Published: November 11, 2009 02:01 pm      

The politics of a wave

The other day, for oh … the thousandth time in my life, I waved back at a person who was waving at someone else.

It’s funny and always mildly embarrassing, even when you wave at someone you suspect in advance you don’t know. The embarrassment is really a wasted emotion given that the person you wave back to generally makes little of it. And for me it makes even less sense in light of the policy I adopted for myself: if someone waves, just wave back.

For more than 30 years, my father was the most well-known family physician in my hometown, a town that now mirrors Richmond in size, but was much smaller when I was growing up.

I couldn’t go anywhere with the man without someone saying “Hi Doc,” shaking his hand, and usually telling him how some malady they had seen him for was progressing.

The great majority of the time, when I asked who the person was, he told me, but occasionally he said, “I don’t know.” This was often after detailed, one sided conversations, in which my father mostly asked questions and listened.

On the rare occasions when he didn’t know who the person was, he never let on, and the unidentified patients never seemed wise to it. That is a learned skill.

On a brisk day in my practice, I deal with five to seven clients. My father saw many times that number of patients every day in his office. He also was the medical director at a local nursing home.

I asked my dad once why he didn’t ask people who they were. He explained that he learned early as a doctor, when he didn’t immediately recognize or remember a patient, it hurt their feelings. He also said that those conversations were not for him, they were for the patient, so he made sure it was a positive experience.

That is the approach I take to waving. As an attorney, I represent people at the some of the most stressful and notable moments in their lives. Consequently, they remember me. And the great majority of the time, I remember them. I don’t always remember their names or recognize their faces years later, but the thing I always seem to recall is the facts of their cases.

It is thought that people who don’t remember others are somehow flawed. It’s not that simple. I think you have to consider an individual’s circumstance. A doctor, a minister, an attorney, a shopkeeper, a judge or a teacher will all meet and affect many people during his or her lifetime. Try as we might, it is very difficult to recall everyone we interact with throughout the years.

One scenario that arises time and again is clients who swear to me that the judge knows them. Some clients believe it will somehow help — others that it will hurt.

I cannot tell you how often, after a case was over, when I asked the judge if he or she remembered my client, that the judge was clueless. Between the long dockets and the long campaigns they run to get to the bench, when it comes to remembering people, many judges have information overload.

I have coached youth football and baseball teams for years and judged mock-trial competitions. The kids don’t always remember me after years pass, but some parents do. When I run into people I can’t place, I have to ask myself: client? client’s family? coaching parent? other?

I haven’t obtained my father’s skill level yet. Sometimes people catch on that I didn’t immediately place them, and just remind me who they are, but usually I can remember with a little time and a few well placed innocuous questions.

Oddly, some of the people I recognize immediately say, “I can’t believe you remember me.” The fact is, I usually remember everyone, it’s just a matter of degree.

So when I walk down Main Street during a work day, as I very often do, given the number of people I’ve gotten to know and represented, some people honk and wave.

I used to look around and think, “me?” before waving back. I don’t do that anymore. Now, I throw up my hand, smile and wave, then try to figure out who it is. Because let’s face it, waves are free, and an errant wave never cost anyone (except maybe at an auction).