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OBSERVATIONS
Driving Friendly
By David Oelrich
I spent a good portion of my childhood years staring out the window from the
back seat of an Oldsmobile Cutlass Cruiser station wagon. There was a more or
less permanent nose, finger, tongue, candy and dirt smear that extended from
the black rubber weather seal to approximately 4 inches from the window’s
top edge. Through this hazy portal, I gazed out upon the landscape of Texas
as my father indulged his dual desires for family outings and really good food—the
kind that only existed in the most unlikely and unsanitary spots imaginable,
or at Dairy Queen.
Regardless of where we were going, a great deal of time was spent simply driving
around in the middle of nowhere with my mother noting that we might be lost
and my father asking us all, earnestly, where our sense of adventure was to
be found.
During these tours, I noticed that pretty much every car we saw on those two-lane
ribbons had a waving person driving it. I don’t mean to insinuate that
they were sticking their hand out the window and making like Miss America. Most
of these folks just lifted a single digit straight up off the steering wheel
and gave a very slight nod of the head. Some gave a full-on “howdy”
wave with a sideways twist of the wrist.
I vividly recall passing a rancher in a rusty truck sticking his whole upper
torso out of the driver’s side window and thrusting his arm up and down
while he let out a huge “Whoop!” In retrospect I think he probably
thought we were people he knew, but then we were only about 5 miles from Luckenbach,
where “Everybody is somebody,” as they say. At any rate, all of
us in the car waved back.
I’ve even found this custom in other states, though it turned out the
waving parties were both Texan. My wife and I were taking a trip through Colorado
one November several years ago and were being passed from the left on a two-lane
mountain road. The driver waved as he went by, friendly as can be, but then
the passengers started making less affable gestures, having spotted my burnt
orange shirt and hat. It was, after all, game day, and these fellows apparently
hailed from College Station. Ah well, at least we’d all acknowledged each
other.
In recent years, I have cruised down many of these same roads and have gotten
nary a blink from most drivers as they bear down on my left side despite repeated
attempts at engaging their attention. I get a little downhearted by the lack
of camaraderie on their part, but make up for it with celebration when I do
get a wave. Needless to say, my wife thinks I am crazy.
There was an article in The Washington Post some time ago about the effect
of the president’s ranch in Crawford on the locals. The biggest complaint
folks had was that the Secret Service wouldn’t wave back. Surely if the
guys in black get briefed on protocol to go to, say, China, they should have
been given instruction on the cultural niceties of Texas’ back roads.
I sometimes think that, perhaps, we have lost a little bit of friendliness
that used to be a big part of being a Texan. But maybe I’m the one who
has changed. It is probably revisionist remembering on my part—a nostalgic
illusion that made me think that if people were passing you in a car and didn’t
know you from Adam, they were going to assume that you were nice enough to wave
to … and it didn’t cost anything anyway.
So why is it different now? We have been politicizing, categorizing, polarizing
and dehumanizing each other quite a bit lately. Don’t get me wrong, we
have done these things forever, but the intensity seems to have really spiked.
By simple logic, it is easy to assume that any other person is in the enemy
camp on some issue. That means that the person ambling towards you on RR 1323
is probably a conservatively liberal anti-pro-tax-prohibitionist and an enviro-destructivist
and is not going to get a wave out of you! And they probably don’t like
enchiladas either!
Another possibility, and one that chills me, is that we have simply stopped
registering each others’ existence. Ambivalence has seeped so deeply into
us that we don’t even see the kid with his face pressed against the glass,
and he never gets to wave back.
I still live in Texas, and I believe that we continue to be a pretty friendly
bunch. I think we might have just forgotten how to show that friendliness to
complete strangers. We don’t need to hug everybody or get mushy to affirm
our good hearts. I propose that we simply try to recapture the ability to assume
that most people are pretty alright. Chances are we’ll be right most of
the time.
Assumptions like that tend to lead to some of the finer things in life like
handshakes, conversations, friendships and barbecues. Further, I propose that
when driving down a road with two lanes, we lift a finger and give a little
nod. Someday, I hope to see an urbanite from Austin knock over his soy latté
in his exuberance to wave at some good ol’ boy who almost loses his gimme
cap in his eagerness to wave back as the Prius passes the F250 between Mason
and Fredonia. After all, there may be a lot of things that separate us from
each other, but being Texans should be one heck of a unifying force.
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David Oelrich, who makes a fine smoked brisket and an even better rack of
ribs, is married to Shannon Oelrich, Texas Co-op Power’s food
editor.
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