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My old high school more than 60 years ago was small. The building housed grades K-12 so it wasn't unusual for a high school student to run into elementary kids.
One afternoon while walking through a nearly empty lunchroom I met two boys, probably about second or third-grade, walking the opposite direction. When our paths met, one of the boys looked up at me and, pointing to his friend, said, "He says you're Lurch. Is that true?"
In real life, Ted Cassidy, the actor who played Lurch in the 1960s The Addams Family television series was 6'9" tall. I'm only 6'7" but a little kid may have seen a resemblance.
I responded with a feeble attempt at Lurch's familiar low-bass "You rang?" and the boys took off running.
Some years later when I was on the radio, listeners meeting me in person for the first time sometimes remarked, "You're much taller than you sound on the radio." I often replied, "Well, I'm usually sitting down when I'm on the air."
Early on in our church experience in Sioux City I was asked to serve as master of ceremonies for a social activity. I have always tried to incorporate humor into these assignments and I did so that evening.
At the end of the evening, one of the women of the church with whom I had not yet become acquainted, said, "You always seem so sober. It was interesting to see your funny side." My wife, who had seen more than enough of my funny side, rolled her eyes.
I find it interesting how we often size up a person before we know them and then discover someone we didn't expect when we do get to know them.
I can think of many individuals with whom I was unimpressed upon first meeting and then discovered a fascinating individual. Some of those situations resulted in longtime friendships.
When I was in advertising sales in Sioux City my job took me into businesses where I sometimes had to wait a while to visit with the individual in charge of advertising. On several occasions I was mistaken for a member of the store's staff. Usually, a smile and a simple "Sorry, I don't work here" solved the matter.
Someone saw me in a sport coat and tie standing around doing nothing in a furniture store and judged me to be a furniture salesman. From the little I knew about furniture, I would have gone hungry trying to sell it.
Speaking of a sport coat and tie, 50 years ago that was also often the uniform of a minister. On a few occasions, while standing around waiting for the manager, I was asked by a customer if I was a minister. I wondered what about my appearance or deportment caused someone to think that I was a member of the clergy.
In the early '80s I contracted with a Texas company to produce and sell advertising for a special supplement to our newspaper. The company provided a saleswoman who, upon first impression, was very attractive. Within a couple of weeks I wanted to send her back to Texas. She incessantly whined about her boss, her ex-husband, her career, Texas, ad infinitum.
A few years ago, as my Rotary Club meeting was being dismissed, a relatively new member asked me, "Are you a minister?" I assured him I wasn't. Then he said, "You remind me of a Lutheran minister."
My apologies to Martin Luther.
Over the years I have met scores of people who proved to be different than I thought from my first impression. It is nearly impossible to really know someone from a first glance.
I was a young teen when a Sunday school lesson introduced me to an Old Testament passage that plucked a string in my heart: "The Lord does not look at the things people look at. People look at the outward appearance, but the Lord looks at the heart." (1 Samuel 16:7 NIV)
That was good news to a kid who was insecure in his outward appearance.
And that's why I try (emphasis on "try") to be non-judgmental when I meet someone. Some of the most wonderful people I have known may not have looked like it on first meeting.
(Arvid Huisman can be contacted at huismaniowa@gmail.com. ©2026 by Huisman Communications.)