When your father and I started dating, I was shocked by the way he held every door for me and grasped my hand when I stepped off a low curb. Despite being secretly smitten by these gestures, in my self-righteous youth, I responded with ridiculous assertions that I could do it myself. I kept up this charade until the day he bluntly told me to lay off. He knew I was perfectly capable of the simple task of opening a door; he just wanted to do it for me! Then and now, I revel in your father’s dedication to old-fashioned chivalry: He still walks to the passenger side of the car to open the door for me; he refuses to allow me to carry heavy things; and he insists that I wrap myself in his coat, even though I knew it would be a cold night and left my warm jacket at home because it didn’t coordinate with my dress. This is what’s known as gallantry. Know that you aren’t entitled to it, and you can’t expect it, but in those rare cases when you find it beating down your door, embrace it! Also, thank your father for showing you how it’s done.