In the early 1970s, on a vacation to CA, we stopped at a rest area for an early morning breakfast.
We noticed a homeless man looking through a garbage can for something to eat.
Dad asked Mom to get a cup of coffee and a doughnut for the man.
My Dad ran over to the man, steaming coffee and doughnut in hand, calling, “Sir….sir…”
The scruffy man sat at the next table enjoying his small breakfast.
But the impression that has stayed with me, to this day, is the fact that my Dad treated this stranger with the highest respect, feeding him and calling him “Sir.”