Our First Handshake!

Hey! Yes I still blog.  I just took a month off because I didn't have anything nice to say after what was for me a very disappointing US presidential election.  I won't delve into that subject now.  I'll write a bit about something that makes me feel better about everything.  BASH!

Handshakes are one of those things a parent teaches their child about.  It's a part of the first impression.  Make it firm.  Establish respect right away.  Look the person in the eye and smile.  I'm not quite there with Bash just yet, but I'm already prepared for that conversation.  He'll never have a "dead fish" handshake.  Nor will he be that guy that squeezes the fuck out of your hand while staring intently into your soul.  That person is actually worse because they make YOU childish and you start trying to squeeze back while trying not to show the pain.  But you're already at a disadvantage because that asshole started squeezing first!  Or you try to wither out of the handshake as the squeezer crushes your knuckles.  What a jerk!  Bash won't be the guy that grips only your fingers only either.  That's awkward.  Pay attention to hand placement, son.

First things first.  Handshakes in non-professional settings are what we learn early on.  We thought it was so cute when we got Bash to actually return a high-five.  It's a go-to move for most of us when we interact with kids.

        - High-five kiddo!

My buddy Adam taught Bash the wonder of "down low, too slow" and it was all Bash did for a month.

Then come the handshakes with friends.  My brother and I had the dumbest handshake.  My dad (of course) orchestrated the whole thing.  We would stand on opposite sides of the room with our arms crossed (b-boy stance).  Then we'd strut across the room and give each other a high five (up high, arms fully extended) as we passed each other.  Then we'd stand on the opposite sides of the room again and resume our b-boy stance.  It's embarrassing just thinking about it.  Why Dad?  Why?  I remember people coming over and Dad showing off this brilliant invention of his.

       - Jon, Jason, show them your handshake.

I'd be so proud.  Then I'd walk over and get into my stupid stance and do my stupid walk and give a stupid high-five.  All with a stupid smile on my face.

Though the handshake was silly in hindsight, I get the whole thing.  It was nice to have something with my dad and brother.  I know how good it feels to execute something that makes your parents proud.  It's a good thing.  It's cool that Dad stuck with it when he must have known that we looked like twin idiots as we strolled across the living room.  I look forward to those moments with Bash. 

Our first handshake is actually underway.  It was Bash that made it up.  I always kiss him when we depart.  It's important to me.  One day I noticed that he would wipe his mouth off after a kiss.  It bothered me a little bit.  I'm over here putting a roof over your head and you have the nerve to wipe my saliva (less saliva than he leaves on me, mind you) off your face?  How dare he?! I decided to not hide my urge to wipe his nasty spit off of my mouth whenever we kissed goodbye. I started wiping my mouth with each kiss.  It was a protest of sorts.  You wipe, I wipe.  Take that you little ingrate! 

One day Bash gave a particularly dry kiss.  I didn't have anything to wipe off.  He wiped his mouth like normal and then looked up at me as if he was disappointed.

       - Daddy do this *wipes his mouth*

       - Oh, I'm sorry *wipe my mouth*

Then he ran off like children do right after they melt your heart.  Tears welled up in my eyes.  We... have... a handshake together.  I was so proud.  I wanted to kiss him 100 times and then wipe my mouth 100 times.  Our first handshake was official!

Daddy and Bash's handshake

The best part about it was it came naturally.  I didn't have to orchestrate something that will make him cringe when he's in his thirties.  He has just as much creative rights to this thing as I do.  

The worst part about it is he's two years old.  His attention span isn't the best.  I wipe every time.  It's our thing.  When he doesn't wipe and I do, I just look like the asshole parent.  I just stand there after wiping my child's spit off trying to explain to strangers that we're both supposed to do it.

       - Hey Bash you didn't do OUR thing and wipe your mouth like WE DO!

The strangers just shake their heads at my dumb, child-hating ass.  The other day I left Bash at daycare and he was so excited that he did a half-assed wipe.  I did a good wipe and one of the teachers called me out.

       - Oooh, you wiped your mouth!

First of all, how childish is this lady?  Who over 11 years old says "Oooh"?  How can I trust her with my child if she's obviously childish herself?  But I found myself explaining (in Swedish).

       - No, it's our thing.  We normally both do that, but he didn't.  He does it too.

She didn't believe me but she felt bad.

       - I'm just kidding. (it's okay to hate your child)

I felt like my broken Swedish wasn't doing it any justice.  I decided to just walk my terrible-parenting ass home.  It doesn't matter anyway.  They don't know what Bash and I have.  I love my son more than anything and we have our own secret handshake and it's amazing.  Until next time...