When you're little, you're taught that it takes nothing to be kind. Teaching you this lesson are your parents, guardians, teachers and anyone else your young little heart tells you to trust, while all the while, unbeknownst to you, they're lying. I once believed it didn't take anything to be kind because that was the lesson I was taught, and frankly, up until earlier this afternoon, I continued to believe in it.

Today was one of the biggest day of the year in Athens. While some minds may consider this to be what we call our spring game, G-Day, it was far, far more important than that: today was daddy-daughter day. A much looked-forward to day among our sorority, daddy-daughter day brings dads from all over the country to spend some much-needed time with their daughters, typically turning a day into a full-fledged weekend of events.

I, of course, opted for the weekend, dragging my father through concerts, lunches, rooftop views and drives through Athens, only giving him a little time after the spring game to recoup before heading to downtown Athens for dinner. While we walked around, taking in all of downtown Athens the way it is only after a football game, we passed what seemed to be the end of a fight outside of a bar. As both men continued to throw insults at each other, it quickly became obvious that one of the men had a severe speech impediment, although I am not sure in which way it was more obvious: in the voice of the man with the speech impediment himself or the fraternity boy he had recently fought with who was now openly mocking him by attempting to loudly imitate his voice.

I am very proud of my school. I am proud of its rigor, its desire to excel and how well-rounded it and its students are. But, for the first time, I was ashamed to go to the University of Georgia. For how difficult I know it to be to get in, for how smart I know students have to be to attend, I was surprised at how stupid its students could really be.

And while my father and I walked by, I turned to him and said: "I don't understand why people can't just be kind."

Why should unkindness surprise me? Why should unkindness surprise anyone?

Because it's a direct contradiction of what we've been told our entire lives. Because it does take something to be kind.

Kindness takes heart, compassion, gentleness and a gentle-spirit. Kindness means taking someone's needs before your own, turning a cheek when you want to fight back or keeping lips sealed when it is easy to lash out. Kindness takes love and a heart that isn't a stranger to love. Kindness lacks pride, delighting in open arms and open hands that ask "How can I help?"

Kindness is putting a few extra quarters in a meter that is about to run out of time, or stopping to treat the man who is out of his luck and out of his home to a cup of coffee. Kindness is seeing that the other person also feels as deeply as you, that they are not made out of steel like we easily imagine them to be. Kindness is knowing that we, as humans, are flawed. We are not perfect. Kindness is seeing the light in others and not only seeing it in ourselves, and kindness is seeing past those human qualities that we cannot control, instead of using them to hurt someone else.

I dearly hope this gets back to either of those men. While I chose to keep my best foot forward for my treasured weekend with my father, the weekend is over and I had a few things to say:

To the man with the raspy voice — I love it. It's wonderfully unique and makes you exactly who you are: a bright, shining individual that cannot be duplicated. I so hope you sing, and I look forward to seeing you again, although maybe in a different setting this time. And to the boy who had nothing better to do with his day then get drunk at a bar at seven in the evening and mock another human being for their individual qualities — I hope my father and I were the only ones to witness the truth of your heart. When your heart lies, I hope you see, and I hope concerns you. I will pray for its healing every day.