My 7-year-old daughter came home crying. “Your dad must regret having you!” the teacher said to her. I was infuriated. I proceeded to face the woman.

She looked at me calmly and said, “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 with my daughter’s handwriting on it. The phrase “I hate my dad” were scrawled on the page hundreds of times.

The teacher said that this was all my daughter had written in class. At home, I discovered even more pages in her folder containing the same hateful sentiments directed at me, my wife, and her siblings.

We were devastated. We had always devoted love into rearing her. We went to a psychologist because we were worried. After a few sessions, we discovered that our daughter wasn’t troubled; she was simply a highly expressive and artistic child in need of an emotional outlet.

We took the expert’s advise and enrolled her in painting classes. She flourished. She is now a university student majoring in Art, and our friendship has become stronger than ever. What appeared to be wrath was actually creativity in disguise.