To My Daughter, Betty — I’m Sorry
Last Sunday, March 29, 2014, was meant to be a day of celebration.
My daughter, Betty, had just graduated from elementary school and made it to the Top 10 of her class. We were all set to gather at Amis Restaurant in Quiapo, with her grandparents joining us for a simple family celebration. Everything was prepared — food, guests, and excitement.
Since it was her special day, my wife lovingly reminded Betty to dress up for the occasion. And she did — she looked beautiful. But just before we were about to leave, Betty decided to change her outfit. I told her she already looked wonderful and that there was no need to change again. My wife agreed.
What happened next caught me off guard. Betty responded with harsh words — “This is my life!” — and refused to listen. It broke my heart and frustrated me deeply. As a father, I wanted her to understand the value of listening and showing respect, especially on such an important day.
When the arguing escalated between her and my wife, I stepped in. I told Betty to stop, to calm down, and to wear the dress she had originally chosen. But she kept on talking back. And I lost control.
I let my anger get the best of me.
I hit her. First with a stick, then with a hanger. I kept going even when she cried and asked me to stop. I don’t even remember how long it lasted — only that I saw bruises on her arms and legs afterward. And I saw pain in her eyes that I will never forget.
We still went to the restaurant. We sat down as a family. But Betty sat there crying, trying to eat through tears, while I sat there pretending things were normal — but nothing was normal after that.
I am writing this because I want to say this clearly:
I am sorry, Betty. I am truly, deeply sorry.
There’s no excuse for what I did. You were a child — my child — and I should have protected you, not hurt you. I let anger win. I let pride win. I acted out of frustration, not love. And that is not the kind of father I ever wanted to be.
You deserved joy on your graduation day. You deserved to feel proud and safe. Instead, I left you hurt and afraid — and I will carry that guilt for the rest of my life.
I’m sorry I didn’t stop when you asked me to. I’m sorry I used my hands and not my words. I’m sorry I made you feel that fear — especially from someone who is supposed to be your protector.
To other parents reading this:
This is my confession and my warning. No matter how right you think you are, or how disrespectful a child may seem — violence is never the answer. You don’t teach respect through fear. You teach it through patience, consistency, and love.
To my daughter:
I can’t undo the past. But I promise you, I will spend the rest of my life being better, doing better, and proving that my love for you is stronger than my anger ever was.
