My daughter, 7, came home crying. The teacher told her, “Your dad must regret having you!” I was furious. I went to confront this woman.
She looked at me calmly and asked, “Sir, did you see what she wrote about you? Have you even checked your daughter’s bag?” I froze when she showed me a crumpled piece of paper filled with my daughter’s handwriting. The words “I hate my dad” were scrawled across the page—hundreds of times.
The teacher explained that this was all my daughter had been writing during class. At home, I found even more pages in her folder, full of the same hurtful words aimed at me, my wife, and her siblings.
We were devastated. We’d always poured love into raising her. Worried, we sought help from a psychologist. After a few sessions, we learned our daughter wasn’t troubled—she was simply a deeply expressive and artistic child in need of an emotional outlet.
Following the expert’s advice, we enrolled her in painting classes. She flourished. Today, she’s majoring in Art at university, and our bond is stronger than ever. What once seemed like anger was really creativity in disguise.
