Hold the Door

At the school where I work, the campus buildings have heavy double doors. Most come equipped with large square buttons to push for extended automated entry. This is South Florida, so winter winds blowing through the halls is never a concern.

Despite the automation, I still check behind me to see if another person is also intending to enter. I hold the door and smile. That person, whether student or staff, smiles back and says "Thank you." A small event in an otherwise uneventful day.

Yet I do not think this is such a small event. My campus is host to a rainbow of students and faculty. This rainbow embraces ethnicity, nationality, sexuality, religion, age, and economic class. When I hold the door, I am saying, "I honor you, I respect you, I am your friend. Your entry into my office, the restroom, the dining hall, my life, is a joy, and a blessing."

Small actions can offer bigger meanings.

If I could choose the title of my own eulogy, it might read: "She held the door."