Opening doors, putting my mum first. That's how Dad taught me to be a gentleman

Voices From opening doors to apologising first after an argument, Mr Andrew Lim's father showed him that being a gentleman isn't about grand gestures, but choosing love over pride, day after day. Mr Andrew Lim, 34, (left) says the greatest lessons he learnt about love and marriage came not from advice, but from watching the way his father, Dr Alvin Lim, 68, (right) treated his mother every day. (Photo: CNA/Wallace Woon) New: You can now listen to articles. This audio is generated by an AI tool. 31 Jul 2026 09:30PM (Updated: 31 Jul 2026 10:21PM) Growing up, I thought every dad was like mine.I don't remember my mum ever opening a door herself. Whether it was entering a restaurant or coming home, before her hand could even reach the handle, Dad would already be there. Getting out of the car, he'd walk around and open her door. And he doesn't do this just for my mum.If there's someone walking behind him – an old uncle, a young kid or someone he's never met before – he'll naturally hold the door open, too. To him, it's simply the right thing to do. To me, it's just something I assumed to be normal.It wasn't until I started hearing my friends talk about their own parents and venturing into the dating pool myself, that I realised not every husband treats his wife like this.I had simply been lucky enough to grow up believing this was what every marriage looked like.And looking back, I see my dad had been teaching me these lessons about love even before I understood what they meant.WHAT MY FATHER TAUGHT ME ABOUT LOVEOne of my earliest memories with Dad was when I was around four years old.He was holding my hand while we were walking along a pavement. Out of nowhere he said: "Son, one day it won't be my hand you're holding. It'll be someone very special to you."Then he moved me to the outside of the pavement, which was closest to the roadside. "When that day comes, always let her walk on the inside."I asked him why. "So if a car comes, it'll hit you instead of her," he said.I burst out laughing. It sounded so dramatic to me then, even though it turns out that this act of etiquette dates back centuries in Europe. Only years later did I realise that when he taught me that, it wasn't a lesson on walking. It was about how your instinct should be to protect the one you love from anything and everything, big or small.When I started dating, I found myself doing the same thing without even thinking about it, nudging my date to the inside of the pavement while I placed myself on the outside. Some of my friends laughed at me. "You think what? How many cars actually crash into people every day?" They may be right. But to me, that was never the point. It was just my small way of telling the person I'm walking with: "I've got you."Some lessons from my dad took me even longer to understand.My parents weren't perfect. They had their fair share of disagreements. But one thing remained constant: Dad always apologised first.It baffled me, especially as I grew out of childhood. It wasn't as if he was wrong all the time. When I asked him why, he simply said: "Cut your losses."I laughed. "What does that even mean?""Son, if I win this argument, your mum still won't be happy. And when she isn't happy, the whole family isn't."Honestly, I thought it was nonsense. If you're right, you're right. Why apologise?It took me years to understand that Dad wasn't saying one person should always give in. He was saying that sometimes protecting the relationship is more important than protecting your pride.To be fair, Mum apologised plenty of times too. It wasn't a one-sided relationship where Dad was always the one giving in.But Dad always made the first move, not because he had done something wrong, but because he didn't want the misunderstanding or fight to hurt the relationship. In his mind, saying sorry didn't necessarily mean "I was wrong". It just meant "I love you more than I love being right". Looking at Mum and Dad now after all these years, I think that's what has kept their marriage so strong. Neither of them ever saw apologising as losing. They saw it as choosing each other. Mr Andrew Lim (left) and his parents in their home on Jul 22, 2026. (Photo: CNA/Wallace Woon) TRYING TO BECOME THE MAN MY FATHER IS Some of his lessons started making sense to me only when I started dating in my teens. Even now, as an adult in my 30s, I'm still learning to be the man my father taught me to be. Opening doors is easy. Buying flowers is easy.The harder part is swallowing your pride, being patient when you're frustrated, choosing kindness when you're tired, and putting someone else's needs before your own. When I had disagreements with my friends or my previous partners, there were still times when I wanted to explain my side and let them know I didn't mean any harm. I'll admit that sometimes I could even come across as being defensive.These days, I'm trying to do things differently. More often than not, when a conflict arises with a loved one, I'll apologise first – not necessarily because I think I was wrong, but because I don't want the disagreement itself to become bigger than the relationship. I try to understand and acknowledge how the other person is feeling first. Only after things have settled do I gently share my own perspective.Sometimes I manage to do this. Many times, I still fail. It takes a lot of conscious effort to resist the urge to defend yourself, especially when emotions are running high. There was one lesson, though, that Dad never taught me – one I had to learn the hard way myself."Cut your losses" only works in a healthy relationship.If you're with someone who genuinely respects you, choosing the relationship over your ego can bring the two of you even closer. But if the other person doesn't respect you, they'll simply take advantage of it. I've experienced that too.Protecting the relationship matters – but first I must decide if it's a relationship worth protecting.DAD WON'T ALWAYS BE THERE What I have with my family, especially my dad, is worth protecting. I just didn't know how much until a few years ago, when he had a health scare. I don't think he knows how much it affected me.For the first time in my life, I was forced to imagine what life would look like without him. It terrified me to think of a future where I wouldn't be able to hear Dad telling me to cut my losses, or watch him quietly open a door for Mum. One where I couldn't, whenever I wanted, say: "Dad, what do you think?" After that, I started paying attention.I paid attention to things I'd taken for granted all my life: how he always made it home by 6pm for dinner with us, how he never stopped telling the same terrible dad jokes even though none of us laughed anymore, and how he held Mum's hand and kissed her after family prayer and before every meal.Thankfully, Dad recovered from his health scare. Even so, I catch myself automatically walking on the outside of the pavement. I hold doors open instinctively. If my partner is carrying something heavy while my hands are free, it genuinely bothers me. Sometimes, halfway through an argument with someone I care about, I'll stop myself and think: "Is this really worth winning?"Every now and then, I realise how much I sound exactly like him. And the older I get, the more it goes beyond mere mannerisms.I used to think success was about building and achieving something great, but now, when I think about the kind of person I want to be, my mind always goes back to my dad. He never became a chief executive at his company. He never chased titles, never cared much about recognition. But every single person who meets him walks away feeling heard. Valued. Respected.I hope that one day, someone can say about me what I can say about my dad: that I made the people around me feel safe and that I loved them well. I hope that long after I'm gone, what they remember about me isn't the titles I achieved or the money I made, but rather how I never let them walk on the outside of the pavement.If I can leave people feeling even a fraction of the way Dad has, I'd consider that a life well lived. Andrew Lim is founder of keepsake and memorabilia jewellery brand Apart.sg and Together Diamonds.