I am a people patter

This I Believe

I believe in the power of patting people.

In the mid-1980s, I went to work for a Japanese company in the Port of Long Beach: Kawasaki Kisen Kaisha. You may have seen the big red shipping containers for K-Line on the back of the 18-wheel truck chasses, zipping around on the LA freeways. Those containers are full of microwave ovens, and jeans, and bicycles, and towels, and car parts – any number of things that are shipped into the ports of Long Beach and Los Angeles from Asia. My bosses were Mr. Mizuta, Mr. Shimamoto, Captain Takatomi and Captain Asami – the last two men were actual ship captains. Mr. Mizuta was the financial officer and calculated everything with an abacus. Mr. Shimamoto smoked like a maniac, and had a pretty constant Maalox mustache; he was high strung and stressed out, and he chugged the stuff all day long. None of them spoke English well, and I speak no Japanese beyond simple courtesies, but I liked these men, and went to work for them happily. We worked out a way of communicating that seemed to work. But about ten days into the job, I was called into the American boss’s office, and asked to sit down.

Mr. Bear said to me, “Alex, the Japanese like your work. You are doing a great job. But just one thing though: quit patting them. They don’t like it.”

And I realized that every time I struggled to figure out what my bosses were telling me, when it finally became clear that we had reached an understanding, I would automatically reach out and pat them, nodding, “Yes, yes. I hear you.”

It did not help that I wore heels at the time, putting me at between 5’10 and 6”, and none of them stood taller than 5’6”. So, their female subordinate towered over them in height, and did not refrain from patting them on the back or shoulders — like buddies, like puppies, like good children — whenever they communicated clearly. They did not like it.

So I stopped. I flexed my “anti-pat” muscles and stopped patting the Japanese. I had to sit on my hands, and learn to nod and bow a little instead, which was more culturally appropriate, but did not come naturally to me.

I come from a family of Squeezers and Pinchers and Huggers, so naturally, I tend to touch others. And so I believe in the power of the back pat, the hug, the hair ruffle, the arm squeeze, the hand shake – simple, benign affection, understanding and friendship communicated with the human hand.

Twenty-five years later, I work in a high school, and I pat all day long. I don’t even think about it. I feel free to just live out my natural people-patting tendencies. I pat colleagues, custodians, and kids. Yes, of course, there are warnings against touching students, and I am aware that I could be misunderstood, but really, how can a back pat from of a middle-aged English teacher go wrong? Even little children are told that there’s a difference between good touches and bad touches, and I only deal in the good kind. My flat hand comes in peace. It brings a simple message and the friendly assurance that you are valued. That someone sees you. That your humanity is acknowledged. That your effort and cooperation is appreciated. That your presence is welcome. That you are liked. That you can relax. That all is well.

And most of the day, in most of the cases, year after year, teenaged faces turn to me like flowers to sunlight, and we begin our daily round of work and talk.

I believe in the power of patting people.