28. Doors and Roads
Today is 12 days from the first anniversary of Dad’s passing. I’ve committed to writing 40 stories about him as that day approaches. Forty Steady Stories.
Dad had impeccable manners. It’s something that I think my grandparents instilled in him, and he carried that torch well his entire life. He stood up for people when they entered the room. He stood up when a woman — any woman, but especially Mom — got up from the table. Then he stood up again when they came back to the table and pulled their chair out for them. It was such a part of him that I don’t think he really thought about it; manners were just part of the package with Dad.
We were never allowed to eat before everyone was at the table and we’d said the blessing. We’d hold hands and Dad would lift up a sincere prayer of thanks before anyone touched their food. It showed respect for the provision in front of us and respect for the cook in the kitchen.
(Although, I must say, as dementia crept along over the last few years the blessings got quicker and quicker. One time, at a restaurant a couple of years ago, Dad saw the waiter coming with the tray. He quickly interrupted the ongoing conversation by grabbing the hands next to him and saying a such a quick prayer that as soon as the waiter arrived, Dad already had his fork out ready to pounce on the plate as he was saying, “Amen.”)
He also taught me how to shake hands well and look people in the eye. And even though our culture has changed, I still get uncomfortable when any woman is getting into a car and the man doesn’t open the door for her — but I realize I’m a bit old school that way. I knew that for sure when I was working in downtown Boston for a computer company while in seminary. I was going to an office to create a presentation and went to the entrance of the high-rise in which the company had their office. On the way in the entrance, I held the door open for a woman coming quickly behind me with cold wind blowing. She took one look at me and shoved me through the door before her — not an easy thing to do. That “wind” was much colder than I’d realized. :)
My dad opened a lot of doors for a lot of people. Sure, he always held doors open for everyone to go before him, but I’m talking about opportunities he gave people — and I count myself at the top of that long list.
As far as I know, we don’t name doors after people. Maybe we should. Until then, I’ll settle for a street name like “Gaddy Road” up in Weaverville, NC. It’s on the way to Young Life’s Windy Gap — a place that’s very special to our family. In fact, Mom and Dad were at the groundbreaking some 50 years ago.
I never drive past Gaddy Road without thinking of Dad. That’s his granddad name that all twelve grandchildren called him. In August 2016, he and I were heading to Windy Gap, and I pulled off the side of the road to snap the picture above. Every time I drive past that intersection, I feel like I can almost see him standing there smiling at me.
No one in my life opened more doors and paved more roads for me than my dad.
Now, go open a door for somebody and pass the torch.
