Come Knock on My Door

 
The longer that I’m with Matt, the more I keep finding little similarities that he has with my dad. It’s not the obvious things like how they watch sports, drink a lot of soda, smoke cigarettes and watch Law and Order that make them alike. It’s the strange little things.

For instance, the other day, I came home to see the Book of Mormon on the end table. We probably have six copies around the house, and we aren’t Mormon. Usually when those door-to-door religious people ring the doorbell, I sit quietly and pretend that I’m not home. If Matt’s home, he will greet the missionaries with open arms. He will listen as they promote their religion, and then he will ask them 1 million questions. In return, they give him the Book of Mormon, and that explains why we have so many copies. When I was growing up, my dad would do the same thing, but his choice was the Jehovah Witnesses. He would give them money for their pamphlet and talk to them, and because he didn’t slam the door on their face, they would come back every couple of months or so.

It’s a very odd comparison, yet I think that’s why I love Matt so much. He has a lot of the qualities and quirks that I find in my dad.