When I looked at the grade on my math paper my jaw almost dropped to the ground: a big "65" in bright red ink. I had never received such a terrible grade before. I was so ashamed that when I got home that afternoon I lied to my dad. I told him I got 85 and that the report wouldn't come until the end of the month. Dad smiled. His daughter would never lie about her grade, so he didn't doubt the unusual delay of my report. A month later, Dad casually asked me again about the report at the dinner table. He looked right into my eyes and asked for an answer. Having no choice, I told him that I had in fact got just 65 in my math final. I had lied because I didn't want to let him down. For a moment, he just looked at me. I would have preferred a telling off than that silence. Finally, Dad said, in a hurt voice, "You have already let me down, with your lie. I am not disappointed at your math score. That is no big deal - no one can be perfect all the time. But I am very disappointed in you. If you can't be honest with your dad, who can you be honest with? It's much easier to achieve a better grade than rebuild someone else's trust in you." Dad's words touched my heart. I couldn't forgive myself for having hurt his feelings. I took out the report that I had been hiding for weeks, handed to him and apologized, sincerely. I realized that my honesty is not only important to me personally, but to those around me that truly care about my well-being. In one of Shakespeare's plays a character says: "No legacy is so rich as honesty." After the crisis between Dad and me, I began to understand those words. . Why did her father stay silent after his daughter told him that she had lied?
He didn't understand what his daughter had said. He was angry that his daughter lied to him again. He was unhappy with his daughter's bad score. He was hurt that his daughter had lied to him.