Today, door-knocking is viewed with suspicion, and tragically, occasionally met with violence. Now, I treasure the openness, curiosity, and sincerity of both those visitors and my dad. The visit lasted close to an hour, and soon became a regular occurrence anytime Jehovah’s Witnesses knocked. As a child, I would roll my eyes at the intrusions.
They shared their faith then my dad shared his, Islam.
My dad opened the door wide, smiled, and welcomed them into the living room, offering them cups of tea. I peeked out the window to find a pair of suit-clad Jehovah’s Witnesses, and promptly retreated – from what I’d heard, most people avoided them. Ding-dong! It was the mid-’90s, in my childhood home in rural central New York, where we didn’t frequently get visitors.
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