I think it's easiest to teach by example. My dad didn't tell us

“I think it's easiest to teach by example. My dad didn't tell us to work hard; we just saw how hard he worked. I know I have shortcomings—like a short fuse—but I've learned you can't come home from a long day of work and snap at the kids.” Thus spoke Chris O’Donnell, whose words carry the calm weight of experience and the humility of self-awareness. In this reflection lies not only the wisdom of one man, but a timeless truth that spans all generations—the truth that virtue is caught, not taught, and that the most enduring lessons are not carved into the air by words, but by the steady chisel of example.

The ancients knew this truth well. The philosophers of Greece and Rome declared that character, like fire, spreads by contact. Marcus Aurelius, the Stoic emperor, wrote that a man’s conduct is his greatest teacher: “Waste no more time arguing what a good man should be. Be one.” The father who toils quietly, the mother who forgives patiently, the friend who listens without pride—these are the living scrolls from which wisdom is learned. Chris O’Donnell’s father, by his own labor and devotion, taught his children more than any sermon could deliver. He did not speak of diligence; he embodied it. Through action, not instruction, he revealed the sacred rhythm of effort, persistence, and duty.

There is something profoundly human in this form of teaching, for it mirrors the way nature herself imparts her wisdom. The river does not lecture the rock about endurance—it shapes it, drop by drop. The sun does not boast of generosity—it simply gives light. In the same way, the parent who lives with integrity shapes the hearts of their children without command or decree. And yet, as O’Donnell humbly admits, even the one who teaches by example must continue to learn. For to be a parent, a leader, or a guide is not to stand perfect, but to strive daily against one’s own shortcomings. His confession of a “short fuse” is no weakness; it is the mark of a man who has looked honestly within himself.

Indeed, this humility deepens the wisdom of his words. For in the household, as in the soul, power must be tempered by compassion. To “come home from a long day of work and snap at the kids” is to let weariness become a tyrant over love. The ancients would have called this the battle between reason and passion, the eternal struggle that defines human virtue. Aristotle taught that true strength lies not in conquering others, but in mastering oneself. O’Donnell’s realization—that one must guard against turning frustration into cruelty—is the same lesson echoed by sages throughout time: that authority, to be just, must first be gentle.

History offers many examples of this truth. Consider the life of Abraham Lincoln, whose burdens were beyond measure, yet who bore them without bitterness. It was said that though his days were filled with war and sorrow, he never turned his temper upon his children. When generals failed him, when Congress mocked him, when death surrounded him, he returned home and let his sons climb upon his lap. His example, like that of O’Donnell’s father, teaches that greatness begins not in speeches, but in small acts of patience, humility, and love. For the home is the first school of the soul, and the parent, whether they know it or not, is always the living lesson.

O’Donnell’s reflection thus speaks to every generation that seeks to pass on wisdom: what we do echoes louder than what we say. A child who sees honesty, kindness, and perseverance in action will carry those virtues in their heart long after they forget every lecture. Words instruct the mind, but example molds the spirit. And yet, the quote also reminds us that example is not perfection—it is effort. To stumble, to fail, to try again in front of those who look up to us is itself a lesson in perseverance. In this way, even our flaws can become teachers if we face them with grace and repentance.

So, my friends, let this teaching be remembered: live the life you would wish to teach. Be the example you would wish to follow. If you would raise honesty, live truthfully; if you would inspire kindness, be kind; if you would teach strength, let your children see you rise after defeat. And when weariness comes—as it surely will—meet it with patience, not wrath. For in every gesture, in every word, in every silence, you are shaping the souls who watch you.

Thus, in Chris O’Donnell’s humble acknowledgment lies the wisdom of the ages: that legacy is not built in speeches or commands, but in the quiet, steady practice of love and discipline. To teach by example is the oldest, purest, and most powerful way of shaping the world—one heart, one home, one life at a time.