On a flight to Milwaukee, my 13-year-old daughter, Tallis, got her period—only her second one. She rushed to the bathroom with the emergency pad I always carry, but five minutes later, a flight attendant told me she was crying inside. “I bled through my pants,” she whispered. My heart broke.

I explained to the attendant, Soraya, who quietly handed me a sweatshirt. Tallis tied it around her waist and came out red-faced. “I ruined my jeans,” she said. “No, sweetheart. You just grew up a little,” I told her.

Back in our seats, she rested her head on my shoulder, whispering, “Thanks, Dad.”

The next day at a wedding, she felt insecure. A snide cousin mocked her, but Tallis calmly replied, “I’m just not insecure enough to pretend I’m an adult.” That was her moment.

Later, we found a note from Soraya in her suitcase: “Periods are part of your strength. I once bled through white shorts. Now I carry tampons like armor.”

We mailed her a thank-you, and months later, Soraya received an award. Tallis smiled and asked, “Do you think we’ll see her again?”

“Maybe. Or maybe you’ll be someone’s Soraya one day.”

Lesson: Kindness passed on becomes legacy.