My World: Bemoaning the lost art of the wink

I think society was better off when folks winked at one another more often. We were not so self-absorbed as we seem to be now, in the electronic age of smartphones and tablets, laptops and iPods.

When is the last time someone winked at you? I suspect it has been a long, long time.

There was a time years ago when the wink was a common occurrence and held a certain intimacy in our society, a certain sotto voce message from one person to another. They might even be strangers. But with a wink, a connection is somehow made.

I think society was better off when folks winked at one another more often. We were not so self-absorbed as we seem to be now, in the electronic age of smartphones and tablets, laptops and iPods.

This might be the scenario: A guy sees a girl who interests him. He is on one side of that "crowded" room, and she on the other. But somehow, through the magic of laughter and haze, they catch each other's glance. And then suddenly he winks. The deal is sealed. They are going to meet. Perhaps they will start dating, perhaps even someday marry and have the family they both wanted. Perhaps someday they will celebrate their 50th wedding anniversary.

And it all started with a wink.

Of course, it could have gone in an entirely different direction. She could have turned away from him and thought to herself, "What a creep." There's no guarantee. But if I were a betting man, that wink could work its magic. We need more of that today.

I suspect the wink has a long history, good and bad. No doubt scofflaws winked to their fellow scofflaws just as they were about to rob the bank. Or perhaps at the other end of the spectrum, even Jesus himself might have winked at Peter or James as he uttered the Beatitudes to the masses. It works both ways. But when all is said and done, it is a most human action, a most intimate harmless connection, often between strangers. We need more such interaction these days.

Just the other day, I was in Chuck's Place in downtown Lake Oswego, enjoying a cup of their rich, dark "Coffee of the Day," and there was a young couple sitting at a table nearby, oblivious to me and the surroundings, talking in low voices. Clearly they had more than a passing interest in one another, but I knew the deal had been sealed when I saw the young man wink at the young lady and grin his foolish grin, and she blushed such a deep red that even I, from across the room, could see the color of her face darken and glow like a jewel.

It wasn't long before they left, hand in hand, still ogling one another.

I would like to think they were heading off into a future full of joy and a storehouse of treasured memories.

And what about us older folks? I was at the Adult Community Center just last week, where I teach a class in memoir writing, and as I was preparing to leave the building I noticed an elderly couple heading into the dining room. They were easily my age, if not older. Yet they, too, like teenagers hand in hand, were enjoying one another's company. And then I saw the old rogue give a sly wink. Not to her, but to me. As if to say, "I've still got it, Buster. You better believe it."

And I believed him.

I suspect he was about to seduce her over the "entre of the day," that plate of beef stroganoff. Reading the look in his eye, I suspected naptime that afternoon was going to be special.

But all in all, I believe one doesn't see the wink as often as we would like. Perhaps we have become too sophisticated to engage in such innocent behavior anymore. I fear the wink has been replaced by the "selfie." I see people straining and twisting to take photos of themselves. A crude form of self-aggrandizement that will yet destroy civilization as we know it.

Give me a good sly wink any day. It promises the possibility of so much more in return.

Lake Oswego resident Ronald Talney is a retired trial lawyer, writer and poet. In 1985, he wrote the official dedication poem for the statue Portlandia. Look for his column, "My World," on the second Thursday of every month in The Review.