Lessons in Consideration

Some time ago, my wife and I entered a bustling Nashville restaurant, only to find that every waiting bench was full; a group of young men occupied many of the seats.

Gracie, who was using two canes, clearly displayed her prosthetic legs. Yet, the young men seemed completely unaware of her struggle.

“Which of you is going to offer her your seat?” I asked, aiming my question directly at them. Awkwardly, they all stood up. It was as if they only needed a nudge to understand what was expected in that moment. A little embarrassment can, surprisingly, be a powerful teacher.

However, ideally, boys shouldn’t need a stranger’s intervention to learn about consideration. It’s often the simplest acts, like removing a hat, that can instill these values long before they’re fully recognized.

The Bible, specifically in 1 Corinthians 11:4, talks about men praying with covered heads. For many generations, Christian men would take off their hats in church and during prayer, while women observed a different tradition stemming from the same passage. A woman’s Sunday hat and her husband’s uncovered head could symbolize respect.

In military and civilian life, uncovering one’s head is a sign of honor. Back in 1745, the Coldstream Guards advised soldiers to salute by bringing their hands to their hats instead of removing them, which led to the modern hand salute. Nowadays, organizations like the Emily Post Institute still encourage men to take off their hats during prayers, meals, and the national anthem.

I personally learned about this gesture long before I understood its background. My father wore a Navy captain’s cap that had an eagle on it. Whenever he entered a building, he would remove his hat and hold it in his hands. He never made a grand announcement about respecting others; I simply observed him doing it.

I’ve noticed men removing their hats as funeral processions go by—paying respect to people they might not even know. At gravesides, they stand bareheaded alongside grieving families, showing that you don’t need a connection to recognize someone else’s grief.

Sitting at the piano in church, I’ve seen younger men come in with their hats still on, either ignoring the custom or perhaps never having been taught it in the first place.

In a nation currently debating the very definition of what a woman is, doesn’t it make sense to spend some time teaching boys what it means to be a man, particularly a gentleman?

Holding a door for a woman can be a meaningful start. Any door, really. Most women appreciate the gesture. Once in a while, you might encounter someone who doesn’t respond well or is too focused on their phone. But regardless of their reaction, it’s still worth holding the door open. Your manners don’t need validation.

My father expected that kind of courtesy from me. If we rely on applause to guide our manners, perhaps we still have a lot to learn.

I taught my sons to rise when a woman leaves or returns to the table and to help her sit down. When I offer my hand for a handshake, I take off my glove, even in the cold Montana winters, although I keep the introductions short.

One of my sons mentioned how disheartening it is that many in his generation and the ones after seem to struggle with simple introductions: handshakes, maintaining eye contact, speaking clearly. Those moments can lead to friendships, job opportunities, or just make someone feel welcomed. Boys need men who are willing to practice these things with them.

Why do we do all this? Because consideration should demand something from us. We get up from a comfy chair. We pause to hold a door. We brave the cold to offer a proper greeting. We understand that saying “Yeah” is a pale substitute for “Yes, sir” or “Yes, ma’am.”

Sometimes, this means giving up a restaurant bench to a woman on prosthetic legs.

Some boys grow up without a father figure at home. Some adult men may not have had one to teach them either. Grandfathers, uncles, pastors, coaches, and neighbors can impart these lessons—sometimes even strangers can speak up when needed.

Keeping males out of women’s sports is just a part of the solution. Being male doesn’t automatically equate to being a gentleman. We need to teach boys what it means to achieve mature manhood, and we must expect it from the grown men: consideration, restraint, and a willingness to put others’ needs first.

These lessons take root in minor acts, performed repeatedly until they become second nature. Offering a seat. Holding a door. Removing a hat.

After we moved to Montana, we attended our first community rodeo. The announcer asked all men to take off their hats. If I remember right, he referred to them as “lids.”

As the invocation resonated through the stands, we remained standing for the national anthem. The majestic, snow-capped Rockies rose in the background. A woman on horseback carried the American flag as the crowd joined together in song. Cowboy hats and a few ball caps rested firmly over hearts.

That rodeo was a reminder that these values are still being passed on. A little boy, dressed in boots and jeans, stood with his cowboy hat over his heart. Someone had taught him, and around him were men modeling the same respect.

Sometimes, returning to the basics starts with a focus on the little things.