Dad… I think I was too harsh earlier

Two weeks ago, something happened in my family that I can’t forget.

It was a normal Saturday morning—the kind where the sun spills into the living room through half-closed curtains, cartoons play on low volume, and the smell of fried plantain sneaks out of the kitchen.

I was lying on the couch, scrolling on my phone, when my 8-year-old son, Daniel, walked up to me with his hands behind his back.

“Daddy, can I ask you something?” he said, tilting his head the way kids do when they’re nervous.

“Sure,” I replied, not looking up immediately.

“No, Daddy… look at me,” he insisted.

That got my attention. I put my phone down. “Okay, champ. What’s up?”

He pulled out a crumpled drawing from behind his back. It was messy, colorful, and honestly, barely made sense. But I could see what he was trying to do—he drew us as a family, holding hands under a crooked rainbow.

“Do you like it?” he asked. His big brown eyes looked like they were begging for approval.

Before I could answer, my teenage daughter, Anita, who had been on the dining table scrolling TikTok, laughed and said, “That rainbow looks like it’s dying.”

Daniel’s face fell immediately. He folded the paper and shoved it into his pocket.

“Hey, that’s not nice,” I said, giving her the parent look.

“Come on, Dad. I’m just joking,” she said, rolling her eyes.

I watched as Daniel walked quietly to his room. Something in me just sank. That tiny drawing might have meant the world to him, and my daughter’s careless words crushed it in seconds.

So I stood up, knocked on his door, and went inside. He was sitting on the bed, facing the window, holding the drawing.

I sat beside him. “You know… when I was your age, I used to draw too. And people laughed at me sometimes. But guess what? I didn’t stop.”

He looked at me, half-believing, half-doubting.

“Can I see it again?” I asked.

He slowly handed it over. This time, I looked at it differently. The rainbow wasn’t just crooked—it was full of bold strokes. The family wasn’t just stick figures—they were holding hands tightly, like we mattered more than anything else.

“You know what I see here?” I said.

“What?” he whispered.

“I see a boy who loves his family so much, he made us into art.”

His eyes lit up. For the first time that day, he smiled.

Later that evening, something unexpected happened. Anita, my teenage daughter, came into the living room holding her phone. She sat next to me and whispered, “Dad… I think I was too harsh earlier.”

I looked at her, surprised. She never admits when she’s wrong.

She pulled up her phone and showed me a TikTok she had just made. It was a short video of Daniel’s drawing with a filter that made the rainbow glow.

The caption read: “My little brother drew this. He’s going to be the best artist one day. Proud of him #SiblingLove #FamilyFirst”

Within minutes, comments started flooding in:

• “This is so sweet ”
• “Supportive siblings >>>”
• “Protect that boy at all costs!”

Daniel saw the video and froze, wide-eyed. Then he ran to hug his sister.

And just like that, what started as a sad moment turned into one of the most heartwarming family lessons I’ve ever seen.

Parenting, I realized, isn’t always about teaching with big speeches—it’s about creating small chances for love to win.

That night, while tucking Daniel into bed, he whispered, “Daddy, can we buy more crayons tomorrow?”

I smiled. “We’ll buy the biggest box they have.”