It came as a complete surprise. A simple, forgotten gesture. Extended before me in request was a hand awaiting a response. I hesitated. This was no longer natural or reflexive. In the last year, I had unlearned the art of the handshake. And here I was, confronted by a stranger, wry smile across his unmasked face and hand extended in a respectful introductory greeting. But my arm didn’t move. I was immobilized.

“It used to be that we often formed the first impressions of a person – or even, dare I say, the character of a person – by the firmness of their handshake,” Robert Bernheim writes. Pressmaster/Shutterstock.com

ABOUT THE AUTHOR

Robert Bernheim and his wife, Patricia, are empty-nesters and residents of China.

We had gone to the back shore of Peaks Island from our home in China to be with family. My wife, Patricia, and I, recipients of two rounds of the Moderna vaccine, planned a day with her parents to celebrate a belated birthday for her dad and a pre-Mother’s Day for her mom. A midday meal of red hot dogs with all the condiments, heaping helpings of B&M baked beans (and a touch of sugar!) and an ample supply of two-bite double chocolate brownies fueled our low-key festivities.

My in-laws – he a retired machinist on the Portland waterfront and she a retired seamstress with L.L. Bean – had moved to the east side of the island over two decades ago from the house where my wife grew up, which had been close to the down front, west side of the island. It’s quiet at their “new” home – the rhythmic thump of waves sweeping into Spar Cove and the chatter of songbirds darting to and fro amid their feeders – some of the only sounds enveloping their world near the back shore. An occasional chain saw from a neighbor may puncture that soundscape, but it is a restorative place to spend a day in the company of those you love and respect. And what a glorious day it was! Despite a brisk northwest breeze, the sun warmed us while we sat outside, expressions of hopes to come in a post-COVID world dominating our conversation.

At this point, Chris, one of my brothers-in-law, arrived and with him a friend. Chris is a commercial fisherman. Out for a week, or several at a time. Ports of departure include Portland, Gloucester and New Bedford. Cooking and crewing on vessels that ply the Gulf of Maine. Once he returns, he has a brief turnaround before setting sail again. Hard working and equally hard playing. This day, he was recovering from a long night. His friend, a fellow fisherman, originally from Mississippi, was recovering with him. They came to join our celebration and share with us some of the bounty of their catch – fresh red fish. Chris introduced me to his friend – “This is my buddy, Mo. He’s crewed with me before.”

And that’s when Mo did the unexpected – he extended his hand. It used to be that we often formed the first impressions of a person – or even, dare I say, the character of a person – by the firmness of their handshake: Strong and solid was good, limp and wimpy was bad. The COVID-19 pandemic crushed such cultural ceremonies and judgments. Elbow and foot bumps have become the new norm. And now there I was, staring up at Chris’ friend with a dumb expression on my face, having seemingly forgotten what to do in such a social setting.

Thinking about it now is like watching a slow-motion video of myself. My arm barely moves up, my hand reaches out and I squeeze his hand with a force that surprises me. His calloused hand is equally forceful. Our hands and arms move up and down. I feel like the Tin Woodman in “The Wizard of Oz” having just received a fresh priming of oil in the shoulder and elbow joints. “Nice to meet you,” I smile and respond. And just like that it was over.

When Chris and Mo were ready to depart, Mo sought me out, looked me straight in the eyes and again extended his hand. “It was good to meet you both,” he said as they headed to catch up with friends not seen in weeks. “Good to meet you, too,” I replied. I would like to say that I felt a flood of relief and saw these handshakes as a sign that the COVID-19 pandemic era was coming to a close and that I was moving forward. But instead, on both occasions, I went into the bathroom, closed the door and vigorously washed my hands to the tune of “Happy Birthday,” twice over. The effects of the pandemic still have their grip on me.