Never Ruin an Apology: Lessons from My Father’s Cold Night Drive

Why is it so easy for some people to own up to their mistakes, while others spend endless energy hiding them? And why do some genuinely believe they did nothing wrong, even when the damage is clear?

Psychology shows that how we handle our faults depends heavily on our inner security. People who readily admit mistakes usually have high self-esteem that isn’t tied to being perfect. They see errors as opportunities to learn rather than threats to their identity. On the other hand, those who cover up their actions often act out of fear—fear of judgment, loss of control, or rejection. Then there are those who rewrite reality in their own heads; their minds protect them from uncomfortable truths through a mechanism known as cognitive dissonance, making them truly believe they were right all along.

Accepting when I am wrong comes naturally to me. Somewhere deep down, a core belief was ingrained early on: making a mistake is fine, as long as you take ownership, repair the damage, and commit to never repeating it.

I learned this as a child watching my father. He was the Dean of Medicine, yet I often saw him apologize to his subordinates, his workers, and even complete strangers whenever he felt he was in the wrong.

I vividly remember a selection committee he was heading to appoint Professors in the Department of Medicine. There were three candidates—all remarkably brilliant—for just two posts. One candidate, let’s call him X, had endured a heavy personal life and early hardship. Influenced by sympathy, my father selected X along with one other candidate.

Later that evening, he sat with my mother and confessed, “I think I got carried away by emotion. I selected X because his life has been so hard, but deep down, I know the third candidate truly deserved it more.”

My mother replied, “You can’t undo it now. What can you do?”

“I cannot undo it,” he said, “but I can ask for forgiveness.”

At 10:30 PM on a freezing night, he drove to the house of the doctor who hadn’t been chosen. The Dean of Medicine sat with him, admitted his mistake, and promised to make things right in time, even if it took a while. Within six months, that doctor was also appointed as a professor. But during those six months, I watched my father carry the quiet weight of knowing he had made a flawed call. He used to say , never ruin an apology by trying to justify it .

As a teenager, that lesson stayed with me: it is essential to set ego aside and admit when you screw up. You must minimize the harm, communicate honestly with the person affected, and take responsibility.

On a moral level, none of us are perfect—I am certainly far from it. We all make mistakes. At work, no matter how brilliant you are, missteps happen. In relationships, you are bound to mess up once in a while.

What makes any mistake infinitely worse is the impulse to cover it up, justify it, or construct logical excuses. It is always easier—and far better—to accept reality, take a deep breath, and focus on the path forward. When human emotions are involved, asking for forgiveness is the only true way through. And when you apologize, never dilute it with an excuse. Leave space for the other person to process things in their own time; as Benjamin Franklin famously put it, never ruin an apology with an excuse.

Sitting here this Friday, connected to my infusion pump, I feel a quiet gratitude for my parents. They laid out life in such a simple, honest key. I am rarely , in any situation , confused about the next step that I need to take .

Living isn’t as overwhelmingly complex as we all make it out to be. It happens one moment at a time—and in the end, what more is this entire journey all about?

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