With Love, From Father to Daughter

It was one of those typical evenings at the swimming center where my daughter had been attending lessons for over a year. The rhythm of our routine was predictable yet comforting, and the place had become a familiar hub for us. One day, I noticed a new face—a man with his daughter—who had recently joined the program. They immediately caught my attention because of the easy and joyful bond they shared. It was heartwarming to watch how seamlessly their lives were intertwined, from him picking her up from school to accompanying her to her swimming class and then from swimming to her tuition. They moved in sync, sharing smiles, conversations, and little moments in between, like sitting together at the cafeteria near the swimming center to discuss school, homework, and friends. The way they communicated was full of warmth, with an ease that comes from a relationship built on trust and mutual respect.

That same cafeteria had been a favorite spot for my daughter and me as well. We often found ourselves there after her swimming lessons, enjoying a snack and discussing her day. It wasn’t long before I exchanged smiles with this other father, a quiet nod of acknowledgment that signaled our shared dedication to fatherhood. There’s a certain camaraderie that forms between parents who are fully present in their children’s lives—an unspoken bond born from understanding the importance of being there for your child, of prioritizing them in busy lives.

Over time, our smiles grew into occasional chats, and soon, it became a regular thing for us to sit together in the cafeteria, asking our daughters about their day while exchanging snippets of our own experiences as fathers. One particular day, though, the usual laughter and light-hearted chatter were replaced by a heavier atmosphere. Meera, his daughter, seemed upset, her shoulders slumped and her expression downcast. Her father noticed it immediately and gently asked, “What’s wrong, sweetheart?”

Meera hesitated, and then in a small voice, she explained how one of her classmates had been rude to her. She had always been kind to this classmate, yet the treatment she received in return was harsh and unkind. There was frustration in her voice as she struggled to understand why someone she treated with kindness couldn’t reciprocate the same behavior.

Her father listened patiently, and after a thoughtful pause, he spoke. “Meera, did your friend ask you to be kind to her?”

Meera shook her head, clearly puzzled.

“Why do you want her to be kind to you?” he asked softly.

“Because, Papa, I was kind to her,” Meera replied, her voice tinged with confusion.

He smiled gently and said, “That’s not how our world works, Meera. You are kind to people because you’ve been taught that kindness is a virtue. But you must also understand something very important — kindness is not transactional.”

Meera’s brows furrowed as she tried to grasp the concept.

Her father continued, “When you expect something in return for your kindness, it stops being kindness and becomes a transaction. And when kindness becomes transactional, it loses its value. We don’t do good things for others because we want something back. We do them because that’s who we are. Be kind, not because you expect kindness in return, but because kindness is a part of who you are.”

Meera’s expression softened as the message began to sink in, though she still seemed a little unsure. Her father, sensing this, added, “And kindness isn’t loud. It’s a quiet thing. You don’t need to announce it or expect applause. You just be kind and move on. No need to remind people how kind you’ve been to them. True kindness is selfless.”

I sat there, absorbing his words, struck by how profound they were. It was a simple yet deep lesson—kindness, at its core, isn’t about expecting reciprocity or acknowledgment. It’s about embodying a virtue for its own sake, and I could see my daughter nodding, signaling that she too had understood the message.

A few weeks later, we found ourselves back in the same spot, but this time the energy was different. Meera had not done well in her Public Speaking assignment at school, and to add to her frustration, the school had sent a note to her father about her illegible handwriting. She was clearly hurt, tears brimming in her eyes as she struggled to process the criticism. Her father tried to console her, but it was clear that her emotions were too raw for any comforting words to reach her.

We decided to take a break from the swimming lessons and headed to the cafeteria to lift Meera’s spirits. After a few moments of silence, her father looked at her and said, “Meera, there’s no substitute for practice.”

Meera’s face immediately showed the classic ‘what now?’ expression that children often wear when they’ve already had a rough day. Even I was a bit perplexed, wondering if this was really the right moment to give her advice. She was emotionally charged, and I doubted she was in the frame of mind to absorb any wisdom.

But he pressed on. “There are two important things you must remember, Meera. First, wishing to win or do well isn’t enough. If you want to excel in anything, you have to practice. If you want to win at Public Speaking, practice in front of the mirror, practice in front of your phone camera, talk to random people—just keep practicing. If you want to win medals in swimming, practice. Exercise. Eat right. If you want to improve your handwriting, write ten pages every day. There’s no shortcut, no substitute for hard work. When we know that we haven’t given our 100% we must be willing to accept failure as well as criticism. Crying won’t help. You see, we aren’t born perfect; we practice making ourselves better.”

Meera nodded slowly, though I could see it was hard for her to take it all in. It was a tough lesson, but I knew he was right. My daughter joined the conversation after finishing her swimming lesson, and even she could sense the serious atmosphere.

I turned to him and asked, “And what was the second thing?”

He looked at me with a firm expression and said, “Many times, despite our best efforts and hours of practice, we still don’t win—and that’s perfectly okay. As long as you know you’ve given your best, you can walk away with your head held high. But if you do fail, don’t give up. Change your approach, sharpen your tools, and practice harder. The only failure is in quitting.”

His words were clear, and both Meera and my daughter listened closely. The lesson was not just about winning but about resilience and persistence. Meera, a little frustrated, asked, “And, Papa, for how long do I have to keep doing this? Is there a time limit?”

Her father smiled and said, “Until you start winning.”

Months went by, and in the course of our regular interactions, I learned that Meera’s father was a single parent. He had separated from his wife a few years ago. One evening, as we sat together, Meera was particularly downcast. She had had a rough day at school and was missing her mother. There was a heaviness in the air, and her father, who usually carried an air of calm strength, seemed unusually quiet.

Sensing the tension, I asked Meera, “What happened, sweetheart? How was your day?”

Meera explained, through tears, that something had happened at school, and she was missing her mother terribly. Her father, visibly struggling to keep his emotions in check, said gently, “Meera, parents are human too. We make mistakes. We’re not perfect. We try our best, but we fail sometimes. If your parents don’t always live up to your expectations, forgive them. They tried sincerely.”

As he said this, he folded his hands and looked at Meera, his eyes filled with both sorrow and love. Meera, her heart aching, stepped forward and hugged him tightly. He held her close, and after a long pause, he continued, “We all have one life, Meera, and sometimes we have to make hard choices to live it well. Sometimes that means moving out of situations or relationships that hurt us, even if they are with people we love.”

Seeing their embrace, I felt a wave of emotion wash over me. I realized that, despite the smiles we exchange in passing, we often have no idea what others are truly going through beneath the surface. Watching them, I was reminded of how deeply complex and fragile human relationships can be, and how much strength it takes to navigate them.

Her father added quietly, “I may not be a perfect father, Meera, but I’m trying my best. I might fail sometimes, but I’ll never stop trying to be the best I can for you.”

It was an emotional evening for all of us. I looked at my daughter, pulled her close, and whispered, “I’m not perfect either, but I’ll always try my best for you.”

Over the next four months, our routine of swimming lessons, cafeteria chats, and life lessons continued. In those months, I learned at least a dozen valuable perspectives about life, parenthood, and the nuances of human behavior, especially in how we guide our children through their own journeys. Though the bond we shared was relatively new, it had grown strong, built on the shared experiences of fatherhood.

Eventually, they took a break from swimming to focus on Meera’s annual exams, and I didn’t see them for a while. I tried calling her father a few times but never managed to reach him. It was only later that I found out they had moved to Germany, where he had secured a new job. The news hit me with mixed emotions—while I was happy for their new opportunity, I knew I would miss the quiet wisdom and companionship we had shared.

My daughter, too, had developed a bond with Meera, despite their five-year age gap. They had become good friends, and she was saddened to hear that Meera had moved away. But we’ve all learned to accept that people come into our lives for a reason, and sometimes, even when they leave, the impact they’ve had stays with us.

To this day, I find myself reflecting on the lessons I learned from that man—the importance of kindness, the value of practice, and the grace it takes to be both strong and vulnerable as a parent. Though our paths may have diverged, the wisdom he imparted will forever be a part of me, a reminder that life’s greatest lessons often come from the simplest moments shared over a cup of coffee, in a quiet corner of a swimming center.

Does this anecdote resonate with you in any way? If so, we’d love for you to share your own experiences. Your insights could provide valuable perspectives for others!

#EmotionalIntelligence #GrowthMindset #LifeInLessons #ParentingLessons #KindnessMatters #LifeLessons #Resilience #EverydayWisdom #BuildingRelationships #InspiringConnections #DiaryOfSanjeev

Co-Authored By: Pavithra Urs, MBA, PGDMM, PMP?