Raising Iris & Robyn

I had a great Father’s Day day Sunday with Cherise and the kids, but I also set up my own personal Father’s Day a couple of days late this year. I took a quick trip to NYC for a bunch of meetings, but planned a special pitstop.

On Tuesday, I visited The City College of New York for the first time since my brother, Cherise, and I endowed a scholarship in my dad’s name. The folks at CCNY were incredibly gracious. They greeted me and gave me a personal tour of campus and I then gave a guest lecture to their blockchain students (contrary to my kids’ belief, there are people that actually want to hear me talk about blockchain). It was so nice to engage beyond the endowment.

The entire day was an ode to my dad. No ubers or cabs, it was all walking and subway rides scaling the entire city (24K steps–after a red eye no less). I saw the former Uptown house of another immigrant who made his mark in NYC (Alexander Hamilton–it was quiet), took a full walk across Central Park (one of his favorite places), had a dinner consisting of soft pretzels (our favorite shared food), and a couple of slices of authentic NYC Pizza to close out the night.

But as I walked away from CCNY, I had a special moment. I thought of how proud my father would be of what we’ve done in his name. The school that is committed to affordable accessible education to all and the school that bears the names of the Andrew Grove School of Engineering and the Colin Powell School of Civic and Global Leadership now bears the name of the Robindra Khaund scholarship. My dad has taken his rightful place among great men. He will forever plant seeds in a garden he’ll never get to see.

Thank you CCNY. I New York.

For the first several years of your life, I used to write about Kai (Iris) all the time. When they became of age, I pulled back out of respect for their privacy, and the fact that they didn’t need you to live their teenage years with commentary. But this year is different. It’s special and I’m inspired to write and share again. 

—

Given your entire high school career was interrupted by a global pandemic, it would be understandable if you struggled. And admittedly, it wasn’t always easy. But on so many levels, you thrived.  You were “the 1%”, but the good kind. Top 1% of your graduating class. Top 1% in each of your SAT splits. Top 1% as a National Merit Finalist. Last week, we watched the senior awards, and by the end, you were going up to the stage so often that I wondered why you bothered to sit back down. Top 10 Academic Rank. Mathematics Department Award. IB “Critical Thinker” Award. California Student Federation Highest Honors. Bilingual Proficiency Award. A couple of others I sincerely don’t even remember because I seriously lost track. But you are much more than your awards. I just love spending time with you. The Simpsons quotes. The anime that I still don’t always understand but manage to appreciate. The deep conversations and lessons you teach. The delicious chai and shared love of spicy chicken. I love all of it. Yet there is one thing I truly admire and envy. Your courage.  

EE Cummings once wrote, “It takes courage to grow up and become who you really are.” 

For all your achievements and awards, it is your courage that will always help you stand out. That courage led you to choose a supposedly lesser high school because you liked the academic program better. That courage led you to try out for cheerleading (and make it!), even though you’re an introvert that is not always interested in “peopling”. That courage led you to come out as genderqueer and leads you to embrace that identity, including reading your poem to hundreds of people on the steps of City Hall in San Francisco. That courage leads you to open mike nights to share poems with the world to the point that it was suggested that you could be a city’s poet laureate (if only you lived in that city). That courage inspires one the most creative fashion senses I’ve ever seen. That courage led you to be open and proactive about addressing your mental health when you struggled with it. That courage leads you to say what’s on your mind, even if people don’t want to hear it–don’t ever give that up. And now that courage is leading you to ditch convention and postpone college to take on new challenges and adventures (here and abroad) that most people many times your age could only dream of. Oh, and even in doing that, that courage led you to decline a spot on the waiting list of your dream school because you knew you couldn’t defer the acceptance and you refuse to let anything get between you and your gap year plans.

You know, I’ve often said you that you and your sister are smarter than me and your mother. I’m not 100% sure of that. We’re all pretty smart. But here’s what I do know. Everything I am grateful for comes from my courage. My courage to move to California, even though everything I loved and cared about was back east. My courage to start a company and fail, only to start again and fail, and still try again. And of course, my courage to find that amazing girl I met at a party 25 years ago, even after I forgot to get her phone number. And don’t forget your grandparents, one set traveling halfway to around to a strange land called America, knowing no one here, in search of freedom and opportunity, while your other grandparents went in the opposite direction, living around the world in search of adventure and inspiration. And for all that courage, none of us have had a fraction of what I see in you. That’s why I am so certain of your success.

Maya Angelou once said “courage is the most important of all the virtues because without courage, you can’t practice any other virtue consistently.”  I am here to warn you that you’ll meet a lot of smart people in your life and you’ll learn courage isn’t a given. It’s not taught. People will tell you it’s important, but most don’t understand it. They live their lives afraid. They’ll follow conventional thinking, choose safe paths, and frustrate you. They’ll hide behind their safety and then mock your gift. I know whereof I speak. It will anger you. It will disappoint you. But let it remind you that you special and you are destined for something special. Let your courage be your guide. 

A Greek philosopher once said “the secret to happiness is freedom and the secret to freedom is courage”. Find your freedom. Find your happiness. I love you.

Your Father

17 years ago today, we had our first child. All of my predictions about the birth were correct. I knew it would happen after the due date. I knew the sex. I even predicted which obstetrician that would be on call to deliver our baby while our regular obstetrician was on vacation. Ever since, I can’t get any predictions right about this kid.

Parenting is the most humbling experience in the world. No one gives us a manual. We make a million mistakes. We’re constantly thrown curveballs. We feel every pain they feel. And we hope, despite it all, that the kids turn out OK–or at least that we don’t cause their therapy bills to run up too high when they’re adults looking back at us.

But one glance at this picture and I see so much of what we did right. The intellect. The conviction. The courage. The humor. The humility and self-awareness. And I think about what Ryan Reynolds once said, which captures that morning 17 years ago: “I used to tell my wife, ‘I would take a bullet for you. I could never love anything as much as I love you.’ The second I looked in that baby’s eyes, I knew in that exact moment that if we were ever under attack, I would use my wife as a human shield to protect that baby”

Fortunately for Cherise, we never faced gunfire.

Happy birthday kiddo. I love you.

Throughout my life, I spent countless days walking the streets of NYC with my father. From my early years when I was a baby and he carried me around Queens where we lived, to my teen years when he took me to work with him in Brooklyn, to my 30s when he moved to Manhattan and we’d hit all his favorite restaurants. He led and I followed. Robin Khaund was as New York as an Indian guy can get.So, it was no small deal that six years after he passed, I took a trip to NYC this week with my daughter that shares his name. It was a trip we dreamed about during the worst part of the pandemic (“when things get better, we’re gonna do Broadway!”). Unfortunately, Iris had obligations and couldn’t leave for the week, but Cherise and I agreed and Robyn and I were overdue for a father-daughter trip (kudos to Cherise for encouraging us to do this even as she missed out). I was excited to pass down my father’s love of the city. We decided we’d catch at least two shows and maybe more if we were up for it.We caught FOUR shows.I had seen four shows TOTAL in the first 50 years of my life, but I just caught four shows in 50 hours. And when we weren’t catching shows, we were zig zagging through the theater district, marveling at the legendary theaters that were all compacted into such a tiny area of the city. I’ve walked by these theaters hundreds of times in the past, but following her lead and enthusiasm, I got excited myself. And the shows themselves were amazing. With each show, I’d look over at her face as she walked in the theater and see the same expressions I had when I first walked into Memorial Stadium in Baltimore to see the Orioles play for the first time. After years of singing Hamilton lyrics about the greatest city in the world, she was finally getting a taste of why. She owned the agenda and kept apologizing when she wasn’t sure if I’d like a show (“I’m not sure you’re really gonna like ‘Six'”). I reminded her that I just wanted a glimpse into her world and what she loves. As we walked back from the final show. I was no longer leading. I was following her on the streets of New York. I couldn’t help but mumble “Dad, are you watching this?” I imagined he would’ve smiled ear-to-ear (the same smile I see in Robyn every day) and responded with his phrase “that girl is something”. For the record, she truly is.And so on this Thanksgiving, I am thankful to have been given 44 years with the man who taught me to love NYC and the last 4 days with the passionate teenager that allowed me to see it again through fresh eyes.

Oh, and “Hadestown” was the best.

Legacy. What is a legacy?
It’s planting seeds in a garden you never get to see.
I wrote some notes at the beginning of a song someone will sing for me.

My Mom passed away 25 years ago today. I planned to get away for a few days to get some new scenery, get some work done, and get some quiet reflection on the day, but Covid had other ideas. I was starting to feel like I was going to let the occasion slip away. 

But then I realized the girls had a short day, so the three of us went for a walk and had a picnic of Sourdough & Co sandwiches while Cherise got some work done. As we talked and cracked jokes, I was constantly thinking about how my mother would’ve been in awe of these two. That was followed by seeing a pic of the parents of my oldest & closest friend (including his mom, who was quite close to my mother) getting their vaccinations. I was left with a smile on my face, proud of her surviving peers finding ways to survive through the pandemic and carry on the Assamese legacy with their grandkids in ways my mother only dreamed of. I’ve been lucky enough to talk to them on Zooms during the pandemic and there’s something empowering to seeing the smiles on their faces and hearing his mom recall my mother and how much she misses her.

And while writing this, as I shoot furtive glances at my 15-year old daughter working on her laptop, I’m reminded of how much she resembles pictures of my mother as a student, long before two sons wore her down. I don’t think I realized how beautiful my mother was until I saw those traits passed on to Iris. Though she has been gone for over half my life, she’s still very present. Anniversaries are simply reminders that these last twenty-five years of my life are the garden she never got to see.

This weekend marks 25 years since I left Cornell to start my professional career.

While I was excited to start earning money in my first job, I would much rather have been starting a company. Unfortunately, Cornell was expensive and my student loans made me risk-averse. In fact, each of my summers were spent working in order to help my dad cover the remaining tuition obligation. In the years since, I’ve always been jealous of the stories Bill Gates & Mark Zuckerberg, who could start companies as college sophomores.

Fast forward to 2020. I’ve now started three companies and those experiences are among the greatest thrills of my career. But I’m still grateful for those college internships as they made it all possible. So, as I see students losing their internships, it breaks my heart. Student debt is far worse today than 1995. I can imagine the pressure of a student who was counting on their summer earnings to help cover tuition. I want to do something to help.

And then it came to me.

What if I could find some of these students with rescinded offers and provide enough cash to cover costs so that they can start their own business over the summer? Forget about working for DoorDash or some minimum wage job to make ends meet. Spend your summer working for yourself and still defray tuition costs!

I bounced the idea off the prolific Sean Branagan at Syracuse’s Newhouse School and he’s agreed to help me navigate this. But I need to confirm my hypothesis that there are still students that wish to start a business, but are hamstrung by college costs. If so, the lemons of the pandemic can turn into the lemonade of an entrepreneurial summer. In addition to covering some costs, I’m hoping these students can lean on me and some of my network to fact-find, learn, grow, and focus on being an entrepreneur.

So, here’s what I’m looking for: college students with an existing serious business idea that they’re truly passionate about and a willingness to spend the summer focused on it. Extra points if you have student loans and/or an internship offer that was rescinded due to the pandemic. I can’t fund every great idea, but if I can’t help you, maybe I can find someone who can.

I still need to figure things out, like how many students we fund, how we select recipients, how much each student gets, whether this a grant or an uncapped convertible note, does all the money go to the founder or is part diverted to the business, and what the requirements are during the summer. I want to make sure everything is done properly and optimized for the students. I’ve been working to set up a scholarship to honor my father and learned that the process is anything but trivial, so I want to make sure I do things by the book here.

To the students, I’ll say that you won’t be as much money as you would’ve made at your Uber developer internship, but it’ll be better than some desperation job in the middle of a bad economy, you’ll have more fun, and you’ll learn a ton. My main goal isn’t to turn a buck. It’s to deliver what would’ve been water in a desert for me 25+ years ago. My way of giving back by helping the next generation of entrepreneurs. We need you now more than ever.

Given many students are ending their classwork and making plans for the summer, I need to get the ball rolling sooner rather than later. So while I navigate the feasibility of the idea, I’d like to start assessing interest. If you think you know someone who’d be interested, share my post or tag their name. They can reach out to me at intern-preneurs@khaund.com and let me know of their interest (and share their business and situation).

It’s hard to believe that it was five weeks ago that Cherise and I went to a birthday party of a good friend with a dozen or so other people. As the party went late into the night, coronavirus was a popular topic, but it seemed like one of those things that would just eventually fade away. Even I thought, “hey, a lot of people are saying this is just like a ‘super flu’, so let’s just be safe and I’m sure we’ll ride it out and it’ll be fine.“ The previous week, my employer had banned all travel and I had assumed it was a little bit overkill. I accepted it as a precaution and figured that we’d be back in business a few weeks later. And hey, I could use a few weeks off the road anyway.

Little did I know that we would shut in for such a long time. I think I was prepared to quarantine myself just as a precaution for a few days, but it was only three days later when Governor Newsom made the call to enforce a shelter in place. That’s when it got real.

But it turned out to be a blessing in disguise of sorts.

From a personal perspective, these last five weeks have actually been a relatively minor inconvenience. In fact, in some ways, it’s been great. I don’t know what it says about us, but I think we handled last five weeks better than we handled the 48 hours that we lost power back in the fall when avoiding fires for PG&E. Cut off my electricity & WiFi and I don’t know what to do with myself. Keep the electricity but make me stay indoors, and I can keep myself busy. Yeah, sports were cut off, but the Orioles were gonna be horrible this year and Georgetown was already out of March Madness. And besides, there is a new season of Ozark and Narcos:Mexico coming out. Thank you, Netflix. Sure, we’d miss Hawaii, but we’ve already been there three times and we eventually go again. The vacation timing was already a little tough for me with work, so maybe the delay wouldn’t be so bad. And I reminded Cherise not to look at the stock market. Let it go down, let it go sideways, let it come back up. We didn’t pay attention to it before and we won’t care about it now, no matter what the news tells us. I detest roller coasters in real life, and I sure as hell don’t like them when they are financial—and watching it isn’t going to help it.

In some ways, our family was built for something like this. We are all pretty much homebodies and never need to go out much. While we certainly enjoy our outings, a quiet night at home was just as fun as anything else. Iris and I would probably describe ourselves as introverts. In fact, there are a lot of things about the last five weeks that I’ve absolutely loved. Don’t get me wrong, I’m sure there’s been a couple of moments where the stress may have hit us or we felt a little stir crazy, as any family would. And I imagine I’ve gotten on Cherise’s nerves or the girls’ nerves at some point. And there are moments when girls might clash, though it usually ends up with them cracking each other up. They razz each other to the point where I keep wondering when they went from being sisters to being brothers. Off the top of my head, I can’t think of more than a couple of instances where things came to a head, and the great memories far outweigh those. Personally, I feel a stronger bond with the girls, and I have seen new sides of them come out. They’ve made this time an opportunity to create. Iris continues her fiction writing, while Robyn continues to write code in Scratch. They’re experimenting with stuff, they’re trying new things in the kitchen (I’ve been the recipient of many a delicious dessert), they decided to make an Easter egg hunt for me and Cherise (after 14 years of us doing it for them), they’ve been picking up the slack in housecleaning since our cleaners can’t come, and they’ve been putting little hysterical Post-it notes around the house to randomly crack us up. Their latest thing is painting toenails and fingernails, first their own and then Cherise’s toes and mine. We’ve done our share of karaoke, including many renditions of Weird Al Yankovic’s “Hamilton Polka”. We decided, after watching many episodes of Shark Tank, to do our home version of Shark Tank where Cherise and I come up with businesses to pitch to the girls, and then they come up with businesses to pitch to us. It’s a level of creativity and showmanship that brings out the best in all of us. We’re even talking about creating “Investors University”, a spinoff of “Inventors University”. We’ve had a lot of deep conversations about life, everyone’s future, and just what’s important. Usually, by the time we finally get them to go to bed, Cherise and I spend the next half hour talking about how amazing they are and how we just love being around them. It’s a really profound time.

Meanwhile, my opportunities at work grew right before the start of the shelter in place and, a couple of weeks later, a reorg added new members to my team. In taking on the new responsibility as well as trying to help the company manage through an unprecedented situation with postponed and cancelled events, I’ve never been busier. I’m on constant calls, I’m working weekends, I’m staying up late, and I am waking up early in the morning with my brain buzzing. Some of the concepts I dreamed up for years ago are finally getting the opportunity to get implemented and used by tens of millions of event goers (well, when events come back). I’m in the middle of a career renaissance of sorts and it is easy to be oblivious about what’s going on around the world. Oh, and even being shut in, I’m still getting in my 10K runs and 70,000 weekly Fitbit steps and haven’t missed any of my fitness goals that I said the beginning of the year. So thanks for asking. I’m doing great!

And in a way, that’s what leaves me so confused.

I look at the numbers every day. You know the numbers. The number of infections. The number of fatalities. I take a couple of glances at CNN a day, trying not to do too many and get wrapped in it. I read the NY Times & Washington Post with the economic impact of layoffs. A couple of weeks before the pandemic, I read a statistic about how many families were one lost paycheck from serious trouble. Well, no one plans for a pandemic. And now, there are so many people who find themselves applying for unemployment. I often find myself stuck in the rabbit hole of Twitter. While inside is Shangri-La, I’m very aware of what is going on outside of our house and how tone deaf the first couple of paragraphs might sound to those who are struggling. I’m particularly pained when I see the numbers in New York and listen to Andrew Cuomo. The NY/NJ area will always be home to me. I imagine my father still being there and how I’d be worried sick for him right now to be cooped up in an apartment on the Upper West Side by himself, knowing full well that he would be extremely susceptible to coronavirus due to his asthma and other issues. Of course, as an immunologist who spent a lot of his time working on a epidemiology during his career, I can only imagine his take on this thing (I can hear his words in my head now)—and how much he would’ve loved Dr. Fauci. But beyond the hypotheticals of my late father, I am aware of the very real struggles of those that I still love and care about who are completely affected by the virus. I think of my oldest friend, who is struggling with the guilt as his sister is taking care of their parents, one of whom is recovering from a pair of strokes, and he has to stay distant. And then last week, I sent a text to another truly dear friend of mine on her birthday, with my standard comment that I hope she was “handling the quarantine OK”. Little did I know that she had contracted the virus herself, her boyfriend nearly died from it, and she lost three coworkers to it. An innocent birthday text turned into a horror show starring this special friend of mine. I spent the rest of the day in a weird state as my face was on Zoom after Zoom, but my head was in New York. Next year is my friend’s 50^th birthday and she somehow managed to be optimistic enough to mention it in the texts. She alluded a trip she wanted to take to Nashville. I don’t care if it’s in Timbuktu. I’ll be there.

And I think of my brother who, as a doctor, is spending his days at the hospital and likely exposing himself to this stuff. I caught up with him a couple of weeks ago, but had to cut the call short to hop on a Zoom and didn’t get to ask how he was doing. A week later, I called him for his birthday and left a voicemail when I couldn’t catch him, and I had a moment where I wondered if he was OK. When I posted something on Facebook the next day, he commented and made a remark that he was proud of what I did in the post.  Best comment ever. In addition to always wanting to make him proud, I’m just happy that he’s finding the time to flip through Facebook. Of course, maybe my reaction was helped by the fact that I just seen the movie “Onward” which I managed to hold in my crying (mostly) until the girls went to bed, and then spent 15 minutes weeping in gratitude of my older brother (what an amazing movie—literally got everything right that Frozen got wrong). Call me back, asshole!

And after all this, I see the conspiracy theories that suggest that this is all a lie, that this was an evil plan laid forth by the Chinese government, or that it was concocted by Bill Gates as a way to make more money. Because obviously, the guy that’s giving away tens of billions of dollars feels the need to profit from death and destruction. Seriously, fuck you all. I don’t like cursing in this blog, especially since I know that Iris and Robyn now know where it is and probably check it to make sure that I’m not saying too much about them. But I repeat, fuck you all.

And then I watch the most bizarre series of governmental decisions imaginable. Yes, friends and colleagues, I see you imploring me to not make a political and not play the blame game. “Let’s all be unified.” Sorry, but the lack of accountability and acceptance of failures are costing people’s lives only serves to prolong the pathetic response that the federal government shows. Speaking truth the power is the only way to change things. Fuck politics. I’m not concerned about November right now. I’m not concerned about who gets credit. I’m not concerned about egos. I honestly don’t care whose name is on the check. Just do your fucking job. So, to those of you who find the righteous path in telling me that this isn’t time to play the blame game, I remind you that the hottest places in hell are reserved for those who, in times of great moral crisis, maintain their neutrality. So take your sanctimonious bullshit somewhere else, because it ain’t gonna fly here.

I sit here and I feel helpless. And busy. And proud. And fortunate. And guilty. And worried. And sad. And angry. But mostly, just helpless. We’ve tried to help financially by donating to a number of causes, including local food banks. We continue to pay our house cleaners and gardeners, even though they haven’t been here in several weeks. When I found out that a recent college grad who was doing some minor work on a side project for me had been furloughed from her job, I’ve paid her in advance. Way in advance. Cherise and I keep trying to get takeout from local restaurants and we’re tipping uniquely large amounts, the level that my dad would frown at me for doing (he was a pretty bad tipper). I’ve been spending time talking to people to keep their spirits up, including a couple of random college students that reached out to me in LinkedIn to ask for career or startup advice. One was an international student at Cornell who was stuck on campus dorm (couldn’t fly back to his home country) and one of two people in the dorm. Cornell can be a lonely place in normal circumstances, but with only one other person in the entire building, what he must’ve been going through was insane. But for an hour, we got to talk about live events, concerts, and the thrill of the business. I think we both got to forget about what was going on outside and it was nice. Last week, I did a webcast to 40 engineering students in India (led by my cousin’s son)  as they all had their semesters cut short, but they were definitely up for a chat about entrepreneurship & Silicon Valley. We all know this pandemic would be over eventually, but I reminded them that they could be part of the solution to make sure we never go through this again—not to mention be the solution for our other challenges, such as Climate Change. Again, for a moment, it was nice to think about the world as better in the future. It can be. It should be. It will be. And it’s the kids in college today who will take this experience and do the most with it.

As I try to do these random acts of kindness, I want no credit and I deserve no credit. In fact, they’re probably more selfish than anything. They help me process the emotions and maybe ease the guilt or manage my role in all of this (“if you’re not part of the solution, you’re part of the problem”). I want the girls to know that I’m doing these things. I want them to think about who’s on the other end of that generosity. I want them to think about how the inequities exist are most apparent when we run into these situations. They have always existed, but they’re most apparent when situations go to extremes. I want to remind them that they are insanely fortunate (which they definitely know). I want them to know that if this was two years ago, this might’ve jeopardized their college funds and even our ability to stay in this house. Instead, we’re thriving and it’s our responsibility to use that good fortune to think of others. None of really know how or when this is going to end. But as long as it carries on and we carry on, I just hope to personally find some balance of the emotions I have and keep finding ways of being a positive force while not allowing the guilt to completely destroy the pure thrill I get from this amazing family and job that I have.

I can’t say I ever liked Kobe Bryant as a player. After all, he was the brash young kid who came out of high school and went straight into the NBA, only to spurn the Charlotte Hornets so that he could play for the Los Angeles Lakers. Those same Lakers that I detested throughout the 80s when I was a big Celtics fan. When the sexual assault charges were brought against him in 2003, my disdain for him grew. I expect that people will think about this inexplicable mistake for years after his death as a question of his legacy and that’s probably fair (though those who bring it up within 24 hours really do so in poor taste).

But it’s really the years since that incident that came to mind when I heard the news on Sunday about his untimely death. I prefer his days wearing number 24 than number 8, and his post-playing tracksuits and business suits even more. You see, Kobe and I had something very important in common: we were the father of only girls–and we both took the responsibility very seriously. In fact, Kobe’s love for his daughters inspired the hashtag #GirlDad. But while I’ve seen a lot of the posts about #GirlDad, most show pictures of men doting on their cute daughters. That’s sweet and I love every one, but if that’s what you took away from Kobe Bryant’s role as a father, you miss one of the most important legacies is that he managed to leave.

You see, this ultra talented, ultra competitive gym-rat workaholic pretty much managed to put his girls above all else. In age of deadbeat dads and domestic violence from athletes (including one of the stars of today’s Super Bowl once being on record demanding that his child and his wife should both be scared of him), you had Kobe. He made a point of prioritizing those girls, but as they grew up, he didn’t infantilize them. No, he was focused on doing his part and turning his young daughters into strong, confident women. The man structured his schedule so that he could drive his kids to and from school just to get those 20 minutes to talk to them and listen to them–just like I’ve started to do with Iris. He didn’t force them to play basketball, but once his second daughter did show an interest, he gave her every opportunity (just like Robyn, who has turned into a pretty serious coder). Meanwhile, outside of his own girls, he worked to make the world a better place for women in general. I like to say that as I prepare Iris & Robyn for the world, I am also trying to prepare the world for Iris & Robyn. That’s what Kobe was doing. Great stories around his support for the WNBA, his support for women college players, and a special bond with the University of Connecticut basketball team (where his daughter Gianna dreamed of playing) and their legendary coach were examples of where he gave credibility ingredients to women in an industry dominated by men. In some ways, he was paying it forward–just as I try to do when I work with organizations like WAM or mentor young women in entrepreneurship and engineering. Of all the clips that I’ve been re-run that I hadn’t seen before, my favorite was when he was on Jimmy Kimmel and told people how everybody begged him to have a son to carry on the legend, and his daughter would interject with “no, I got this”. And most importantly, Kobe looked at her and said “yeah, that’s right, you got this”. It’s as if he was saying, you are not limited for being a girl. That’s no excuse and don’t let anyone tell you otherwise–just as I do when I remind Robyn that, if she chooses to go the entrepreneurial route, she’s gonna make a heck of a lot more money and be a whole lot more successful with her future company than her father ever could.

And that makes the loss of Gianna Bryant even more heartbreaking than that of Kobe, if that is at all possible. The fruits of that parenting would have been magnificent to watch come to life, just as I expect Iris & Robyn to be a lot of fun to watch and I’m really hopeful that I get a chance to see it all.

Last month, Cherise and I took care of our trust and our will, which includes a lot of language about what happens if something happens to us. There’s nothing more sobering than imagining your children without you around. I used to absolutely dread the thought ten years ago and it’s still the greatest fear of my mortality now. But in the last 14 years, I feel like I’ve forged together a body a work that will take the girls far. Still, I worry that they might someday lose the understanding of how much I cared for them. We’ve written 19 annual family letters, I’ve been writing this blog off and on for 14 years, and I post a lot on Facebook about the girls when something relatively major happens. A lot of people appreciate it and provide thoughtful comments in appreciation, while others undoubtedly think it’s some level of bragging. Frankly, I don’t care what anyone thinks. Because in case you didn’t know, the main reason I do most of those posts are because if anything happens to us, I never went there be a doubt that their father loved them, cared for them, and believed in them more than seems humanly possible–just like Kobe did with his stories on talk shows. His surviving daughters will miss their father more than can be put into words, but there will never be a doubt of how much he cared for them. And for that, every father can learn the real power of being a #GirlDad.

I am not a San Francisco Giants fan and I don’t know who I was rooting for in Game 7 of the World Series in 2014. Nevertheless, in one of the most memorable performances in baseball history, Madison Bumgarner pitched the Giants to a third World Series title in five years. And yet my favorite part of the story didn’t happen in Kansas City that night. It happened a thousand miles away in North Carolina, where Kevin Bumgarner was watching his son make history. In the middle of that legendary performance, he sent a text to his son that read this:

“OMG. You’re so much more than awesome. To see you work on the mound reminds me of watching you in high school. You are willing yourself to perfection and dragging the team along with you. I couldn’t be more proud of your baseball accomplishments.”

As Kevin Bumgarner would later tell a writer, “I knew he wouldn’t read that text before the game was over, but I wanted him to know this was what his daddy thought of him.”

I think about that story a lot. I think about that balance of pride and love and appreciation of a child. Those moments where you can’t help yourself and you need for them to eventually know what you are thinking and there comes a time when you go so far beyond unconditional love that you just want to burst with pride.

This was one of those weeks.

On Thursday, Robyn won her second Science Fair, this time for creating a green energy source from…yup, our dog. She called her project “Energizer Puppy” and she credits me with the idea. You see, every time our dog Tiger Lily goes nuts and sprints around and wags her tail maniacally, I always say “wow, if we could only harness the energy of this dog”. Apparently, Robyn took that as a challenge. Ten years old and working on climate change. Fossil Fuels? No, Fido Fuels…

Saturday, she kicked off her third year of teaching young girls how to write code as part of Inventors University. She’s teaching 3D modeling because Scratch wasn’t challenging enough and she thought the kids would learn more from a new subject. So rather than lean on her old content, she built an entire new curriculum. It’s not a surprise that she pours so much of herself into this. She often talks about how she is looking for ways to make money so that she can put it into Inventors University. I remind her that she’d prefer to buy something for herself, but she insists she doesn’t want anything and would rather put the money into a good use. That’s usually when I remind her that I’m not crying, she’s crying.

And today was the Spelling Bee, which she won last year, and we were really worried that she’d get overconfident. As expected, her classmates were outstanding–but so was she. In fact, she and two of her classmates were so good that they ran out of time (and words) and need to continue tomorrow. I’m set to travel to SoCal for an overnight trip tomorrow morning and I spent part of tonight looking for later flights as I didn’t want to miss the conclusion. Forget baseball and basketball, Robyn is fast becoming my favorite spectator sport. Even if she doesn’t win, to get this far despite the pressure of trying to win again (that would’ve broken someone like me) amazes me. I kept leaning over to Cherise and asking “where is she getting this confidence?”

She just continues to outdo herself and confound every expectation (and I’m an Indian parent–I have very high expectations), but she’s never arrogant and always maintains an even keel.

And I must admit none of this means as much to me as her caring nature, her appreciation of the little things, and her ability to make me laugh on a dime. My heart still grows three sizes every time she walks in the room. She and her sister have brought Cherise and me constant joy since the day they each joined the family. Every year that passes brings us closer together. I don’t remember ever laughing this much every day. Even the ordinary nights of ordering in and watching a movie bring a joy I can’t describe.

But still, with weeks like this one, when Robyn is “so much more than awesome”, I need to take a page from the book of Kevin Bumgarner and post my admiration. After all, I know she won’t read this for a while, but I want her to know this was what her daddy thought of her.

Dear Robyn,

Five years ago, I wrote an open letter to you. It was the most honest thing I had ever written in my entire life, but I didn’t want you to read it yet as I never wanted you to feel the pressure of being observed so closely. Five years later, I almost feel like a letter isn’t enough. I’m inspired to write an entire book about what a profound, beautiful experience being your father has been. And yet, I still fear you’ll feel some unnecessary pressure to live up to all that I’ve constructed in my mind about you. So I’ll share it with the world first and someday let you read this so you’ll always know how truly important you are to me.

Just like five years ago, you continue to be a comedic genius. Every time we lay eyes on each other, it’s a race to see who can crack the other one up first. Your ability to drop a Simpsons reference is amazing, and perhaps a little intimidating because you’re getting better at it than me. But you couple this humor with another level of savvy, sensitivity, and thoughtfulness where I’m beginning to see the adult you’re going to become and I couldn’t be more excited. Your caring, responsible nature of dog ownership. Your academic prowess and off-the-chart test scores that makes each of your teachers keep using the word “special”. Your willingness to stand in front of a room of kids older than you and give lectures on computer programming. You’re never bored, you never sleep in, you never ask me to buy you anything, and your only common request of me is “Dad, do you want to debug some code with me?”

But our relationship goes a layer deeper and it starts with your name. I am so grateful that your mother and I had the wisdom to give you your grandfather‘s name. It’s an important link that not only honors the sacrifices my father made for me, but the uncanny similarities make uttering your name a persistent reminder of his memory. Your smile. Your easygoing attitude. Your infinite quest for knowledge. And in some cosmic boomerang, in the time since he passed away, you’ve provided the sanity, tranquility, and levelheadedness that he used to deliver to bridge me through my most difficult times. When he died, I feared for the void in my life without his presence. I’m not saying you and I have the same conversations, but you’ve been an antidote to my stress and a reminder of what’s important, just as he was for the first 40+ years of my life.

Our bond is special and it’s often unspoken. I’d be remiss without sharing one memory that encapsulates everything about what makes you so special and what makes us so special. I hope you never forget it. I know I won’t.

It was at this year‘s spelling bee. There you were in the final round, knocking off word after word with a sly stoicism Down to the final two, your last competitor missed his word, so you were one word away from being the champion. As your principal said the word “facilitate”, I started getting nervous for an extra L that might slip in.

And then you did it.

You glanced directly at me, our eyes locked, and you shot a split-second grin as if to say “don’t worry Dad, I got this.”

At that instant, you and I were the only two people in the room that knew what was about to happen.

Five seconds later, all eyes and cheers were on you, which was fortunate as no one noticed me wiping away the tears from under my glasses.

Someday, I hope you’ll be a parent. Until then, you’re gonna have to trust me when I tell you that that was the single greatest moment of my life and I don’t expect anything to top it. The joys of parenting hard to explain to some one who has never done it, and the singular moments that make it all worth while often come out of nowhere. I have it on video (with the still here) and I can’t tell you how many times I’ve watched it and smiled. It’s my drug to get through the worst days. I asked you about it that night, praying that it wasn’t my imagination. You admitted it coyly and flashed the that smile that melts my heart.

You truly are the gift that keeps on giving.

But perhaps the reason I’m most excited about you and your future is that part of you that only your mother and I see. You, my beautiful daughter, are an assassin. You are competitive, you’re hyper focused, and you are aspirational. And the best part is, no one knows it. You will spend your whole life being underestimated. People will see your diminutive size, your soft voice, your easy-going style, and your shy demeanor, and they’ll dismiss you. And that’s when you blow them away. With that said, I hope you know when to selectively temper that intensity. I’ve seen you take losses hard and bottle it up until it explodes. Resilience is going to be a critical part of your future. Sometimes, we aim high and don’t quite get it–and that’s OK. I wanted to go to Princeton, but ended up at Cornell. I wanted to go to Harvard, but ended up at Wharton. Never stop aspiring, but accept and appreciate the results and aim to do better. Even though I didn’t reach my highest aspirations, I ended up at places that I was lucky to be and I can assure you that my life is a lot better than a number of people that pulled off the Princeton/Harvard combo. How do I know that?

Because none of them ended up with you as a daughter.

Happy 10th and thank you for all that you do to make every day truly special.

Love,
Your still-smitten father