How To Make Your Goodbye Hit Different

My in-laws have this ritual at their house.

No matter the occasion — a quick visit, dinner, watching a hockey game—
when someone says they’re heading out, the entire house becomes a parade route.

Shoes slide on. Jackets get half-zipped.

Like clockwork, the whole family march you to the car.

They help you pack the trunk as if you're fleeing the country.
They hold your car door open like you're royalty.
And then, in an act that once felt awkwardly excessive to my solitary soul,
they stand there waving, waving, still waving,
as you back out of the driveway like you’re setting sail for war.

At first, I thought: Alright, we get it. I’m leaving. Let’s not do the walk of faith every time… I’ll be back in a week tops.

But now? I like it.

Now when I go back to my family’s house, with my brothers and sister, and I
slap my thighs, get up off the couch and say “Welp! I better get going.” I look for the parade.

What happens?

Nothing. Nobody stirs. Nobody follows.

Nobody waves.

They just say goodbye and continue scrolling or loading the dishwasher,
as if I didn’t just declare my exit like a man at the end of a Western.

And I feel it.

That tiny pang in the gut that whispers, Do they even care that I’m gone?

Funny what customs can do to you.

What once felt performative now feels like proof of care.

Now, when people — family, friends, the internet service guy— leave my house, I wave.
There’s something primal.
Something poetic.

You wave to say: You matter.
You wave to say: I see you.
You wave to say: Be safe.

Next time someone leaves your house,
walk them to the door.
Stand on the porch.
Wave until they’re out of sight.

They’ll never forget it.

And soon they’ll wonder what’s wrong when no one waves back.

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Nostalgia, curiosity, the ache of distance—if you feel these emotions, you’ll love the stories I share on my Substack. They blend memory, mischief, and meaning, always with a wink and a lesson. Oh and almost all include tennis. This one just didn’t.

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