Growing up, I made an unfair promise to myself. I promised I would never get divorced.
Now, the odds were already against me, but when my first marriage ended, it was painful. I had never experienced anything like that, and my number one priority was making sure my daughter, who was one at the time, was okay.
And I think we did a pretty good job.
But after everything I went through, I made another promise to myself.
This time…to never get married again.
And then Cori came along, and she swept me off my feet. She never spoke a lot. But when she did say something, it was like a one-liner. Like movie star charm.
And then there were all these little moments when I knew it was her.
We took a road trip across state lines for a frozen yogurt spot that used to be in Ohio but wasn’t here anymore. So, naturally, we drove all the way to Michigan for it.
One night in the first couple months of dating, we ended up in the emergency room. She sat right by my side. That same night, the cardiologist came in and said, “Hey, listen, you’re just having a panic attack.”
She held my hand and smiled without judgement.
I knew it was her then, too.
But what about that promise? To never get married again. What was I supposed to do?
I needed some kind of a test.
Something that could tell me with absolute certainty whether or not I should pursue this relationship.
And then it hit me.
The door test…
See, it started as a one-person show, written and performed by Chazz Palminteri, then it became a movie, A Bronx Tale.
In this movie, a young man named C (short for Calogero) tells Sonny (a mob boss and mentor) that he thinks he may have met one of the great women in his life. And Sonny tells C there’s only one way to find out for sure.
He says, “The door test.”
C says, “What?”
Sonny says, “Here’s how it works...
You walk your date to the passenger side of the car. You unlock the car door, you open it for her, and you let her get inside. Then you close the door, and you walk around the back of the car. And as you’re walking toward the driver’s side, you watch through that rear window, and if she reaches across the car and unlocks your door for you, she’s one of the great ones. But if she just sits there and waits, you dump her right there on the spot.”
C is shocked, and so was I when I watched this movie.
But now, here I am in present day, grappling with the fact that it might be ridiculous to base this major life decision on a scene from a movie.
But if I’m being honest with you, it felt like exactly the kind of reassurance I needed.
So, one night, we’re on a date. Cori and I finish dinner, and we’re walking through the parking lot toward the car. I knew it was time.
I walked her to the passenger side. I unlocked the door. I opened it for her. She sat down. I closed the door. I started walking around the back of the car.
And suddenly, everything seemed to move in slow motion.
I look through that rear window, and Cori’s leaning across the center console. I can see the streetlight shining through the window. She’s just glowing. And then she reaches over and unlocks my door.
I swear to you, I jump five feet into the air.
“Yeah!”
I get into the driver’s seat, and I’m just looking at her.
She says, “What’s that look for?”
I said, “I’ll tell you on the way home.”
That night, on the drive home, I made one final promise to myself:
That I was done with promises and tests. I was done trying to control everything.
Because without all of that stuff that happened before, I wouldn’t have been sitting in the car beside one of the great ones.
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What a wonderful story