When I was 11 years old, I fried my hair.

Friends, I have no idea why I wanted a perm, but my heart was set on it. My parents were very kind – so my mom arranged for her friend, who was a hairdresser, to perm my hair. In the hairdresser’s kitchen, decorated in shades of harvest gold, brown and orange, my hair was permed (and yes, my childhood is solidly in the 1980’s).

Unfortunately, going into that perm, what we didn’t know was that in my teenage years, my slightly wavy hair would turn curly. We’re talking, Weird Al curly. Although it did work out for me later on, when my friends were spending money on spiral perms and I didn’t need one – when I was 11, the beginnings of it meant my first complete epic hair disaster.

Mom’s friend, who was truly lovely, kept checking the perm rods to see if the curl had stuck. Since it didn’t seem to be working, more of the shockingly ammonia-smelling perm solution on my head, seemed like it would be the answer.

It wasn’t.

While I had dreamed of Marilyn Monroe-type soft curls, I went home that night with a full head of burnt, frizzy, awful, shoulder-length hair. Really burnt. Tragic for a pudgy pre-teen kid struggling with identity and puberty and mean girls and all those things that angsty girls deal with. My poor mother and that poor hairdresser may have never actually recovered from the trauma. I think they both cried.  And me? I never wanted to go to school or out in public again. Ever.

My dad, who was rightly horrified when he saw me, took pity on me. His pity became mercy, and he drove me to a drug store where we stood in front of all the shampoos and conditioners, trying to find one that might help correct this mess. Of course, it actually just needed to be cut right off, because no conditioner or shampoo could ever fix the nest-like mess that was perched on my head (an ill-advised Annie Lennox haircut a while later was another tragedy – but at least my fried hair was gone).

But my dad’s kindness to me – his active kindness – let me know I, his daughter, was seen, loved and valued. He may not have understood my struggle – but he saw my value.

Today is International Day of the Girl.

I don’t know if Dad ever knew anything about a day set aside for this but he taught me, in practical ways, that it matters that our girls are seen.

When I read this story of what Dads are doing for the daughters in their community in Uganda, I saw that same heart I saw in our home. Please read this story. Such a basic, human, female need – and so much hope.

These Dads, like my Dad, want their girls to be able to go to school without shame. To have dignity.

In the face of those fathers in the photographs, I saw a brave heart that says to our girls, “You matter. You are seen. You have potential and so much possibility. I will champion you.” They are choosing to intervene in the stories of their girls, for good, and it can change everything.

My Dad’s intervention in my story matters. Three decades after it happened, I tear up thinking of how much he loved me in this way, because it helped change my story from one of shame to one of confidence.

When people ask me who mentored me and helped me with building the company that I lead today, it’s hard for me to answer. Because honestly? It is moments like that one throughout my life, when someone believed in me enough to invest in me, and build confidence instead of shame that have mentored me.

Those close to me know how much I love the team and the work of Compassion Canada. I’ve sponsored a girl through Compassion for over 14 years now, investing in the lives of girls in countries far away. Those girls are not too different than me. Not too different than my daughter.

My prayer is that by investing in the life of a girl, or helping fund interventions in her community, there will be another girl – maybe 11 years old, somewhere, who learns to lead right where she is.

You don’t have to be a Dad. You might be a Mom. A sister. An aunt. A neighbour. A friend. Or, just someone who wants to invest in others the way you wish someone invested in you. Choosing to do this will change you, and it will change the story of a girl you may never meet face to face. And changed people? They change the world.

Would you join me, and share this story, and your own story?