Daniela Ginta, Freelance Writer

Gratitude makes the journey better. Kindness, too.

Tag: raising children Page 3 of 4

Children Need To Take It Outside (and Us Too)

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On January 22, 2015

In Armchair Mayor Column, Environment, Kamloops, Learning, Life Stories, Motherhood

(Originally published as a column in the AM News on January 16, 2015) 

The good thing about sleeping in an igloo is that when you get up you’re already dressed for the day. In our case, that helped even more since we slept in and woke up at 8am and school was to start half an hour later. We made it though.

Lunches had been packed the night before, so with simple breakfast and a quick fixing of the igloo morning hair, we were on the go soon after, pondering contently over our sleeping in and under the snow.

My youngest wanted to see that happen two years ago when we built the first igloo in the back yard. Back then, we had hot chocolate one night under the snow magic cupola with candles on and that was good, but not enough. We postponed the sleeping in the igloo until it got too late and the said construction was used for impromptu sledding and one-of-a-kind games. Fun but not enough.

Last year’s winter had too little snow to build an igloo, but that changed radically this year with the arrival of truckloads of snow that fell as we made our way into the new year. The igloo had to happen and it did.

A few days later and still in time before any flurries or, God forbid, rain, we decided to make it happen. So we waddled our way in the way penguins do, on our tummies, wiggling all the way in, and became privy to a night sleep like no other.

Yes, the floor did get a bit icy in the meantime, hence less soft than that of a newly built igloo, but many wool blankets and good sleeping bags helped us through. We had a couple of additional breathing holes – no such thing in the arctic where the outside temperatures are less lenient than here – and with all the snuggling in the world, the four of us drifted off to sleep. Hats on, of course.

Stepping outside of one’s comfort zone is always a journey of discovery. Around the dinner table or during other times too, we often talk about the ways of the past. We read about the way people used to live (some still do) and the contrast with today’s comfortable lifestyle bursting at the seams with needed and less needed, or plain useless amenities is truly shocking.

With the everyday journey through life here and now, we want the boys to be mindful of the world around them not in an entitled way, but in a grateful and awe-inspired one. We want them to see the nature not as a medium they have to conquer, dominate and tame so that they are safe, but as an environment that offers protection and enables life by the sheer design of it, and is worth of respect. Moreover, children should be guided by us adults, in harbouring respect for the past and the people of the old who lived in nature, with nature and with knowing that they cannot ruin it, lest their lives will be ruined as well.

We have nowadays apps telling us how whether we are walking fast enough, whether we are sleeping enough and they guide us through the process of buying and cooking our food. We have books and instructions and workshops for everything, and somehow over the course of many generations, we have learned that being inside the walls and having access to a lot keeps us safe and happy. We have become contained.

Comfortable homes and decent living conditions are a great gift of today’s world- albeit not for everyone on the planet unfortunately. Trouble is, if it is not intertwined with reverence towards the living world that is the ultimate and primordial provider of building blocks that allow us to make it happen, we fall, and our children follow swiftly, into the trap of believing we are the masters of it all.

Connecting with nature in ways that allow for contemplation and awe help us trace our steps back and in turn, we help our children understand which way they should go if they want to make the world last. We have to achieve respect for nature, and no, it is not optional, not if we mean for our children to have a planet to live on. Respect and gratitude for life are big yet easy to ignore concepts.

You do not have to be a dedicated environmentalist to realize that our natural world is out of balance, nor do you have to be a parent to think and worry of what lies ahead for today’s children and for all of us who will still be around for a few good decades.

Simplifying our lifestyle short or long term by taking ourselves out of the comfort cradle we have become so accustomed to, helps us revive concepts and instincts that are not gone but merely asleep. Putting ourselves in situations that deprive us of the usual comfort may just be the catalyst for that. Sleeping in the igloo was not the most comfortable in some ways, but it was a revealing experience in all ways.

With no new year resolutions in place still, and through waking up in the middle of the sleeping outside night with the feel of fresh cold air stuck to my face, I realized that I should just stick to the one resolution I try to make every day and often forget, but get reminded of through something like igloo sleeping: to be grateful for the simple things within reach that I need to survive, and immensely grateful for everything else on top of it.

The Reason We Are Not Oblivious To Magic

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On December 3, 2014

In Armchair Mayor Column, Environment, Life Stories, Social issues

Initially published as a column in the AM News on Friday, November 28, 2014.

Beauty to live byToday’s early morning sky had a streak of blue I had never seen before. It was a blue that you pat yourself on the back when you get it by mixing watercolours; it was that beautiful and unique.

Except that someone else mixed the colours this morning. Not only that, it made sure to sift some sunlight on the north shore hills, a patch of brightness splattered here and there, as if some celestial egg was broken over those spots for a reason.

The only reason I could think of was to see. Not the whole landscape, which habitual browsing takes care of but often gets thrown at the back of the mind, but the small patches that stop you short, making you curious and grateful at the same time.

Curious to see more of the hills many times before, because today the sun is shining just so, making you wonder if you’ve ever realized just how pretty that particular slope is… Gratefulness is an automatic response your mind comes up with when you look long enough. I did.

Two hours later I took a walk with my oldest. He remarked on the murky waters of the Thompson River and the white shores hemmed with sand. By then, the cloud curtain had been pulled aside and a whole hill shone white and pretty. Snowy paths snaked their way behind unknown knolls and I wished to be there. I wished for the sunlight to keep on doing its thing many hundreds of years and beyond.

You could say it was one of those moments, which I am grateful to not be oblivious to.

There was something simple yet remarkable about it all: a growing boy, us walking and seeing the world around, a train going clickety-clack pulling its load through town, the light that kept on shifting revealing hill after hill and the realization that the world is changing, every day, and every hour of the day, and unless we make an effort to see it, we won’t. Unless we make an effort to keep it, we won’t…

Everything evolves, the slogan goes. Progress pushes some items out of sight to make room for new ones, and the phenomenon that promotes them. Yet the sun shone on the north shore hills way before progress was accounted for in the way we think of now, and the river kept shifting from murky to blue-green and clear since before this place had the name we know of.

I want my sons to grow up thinking of that as they go about their day. There are no ordinary moments in a day as far as nature is concerned, no matter how menial the daily activities become as we grow accustomed by them.

Like the walk to and from school every day with my youngest. One morning we woke up to snow and we walked through a blizzard that spat snowflakes into our eyes, on our cheeks and down our backs if the scarf got loose. You laugh yourself silly, because what else can you do…

Another morning we witnessed a most spectacular sunrise: a ribbon of sunlight, fresh and bright, rolling down from thick clouds to the bottom of the hill. Everything was shrouded in thick grey fog, save for the patch that looked like golden cotton candy. We were both mesmerized.

I wondered how many people got to see it that day and how many before us, and if they did, did they step out the next morning knowing that there will be something else to see, equally spectacular or more…

WorthyOne of the biggest accomplishment as a parent and guide to life as it happens for my sons, is to have them point out the ordinary bits of everyday life that steal their eyes and hearts. Leaves that are too beautiful to leave behind even as they lay shriveled up by incoming cold weather, grey mornings that have a mysterious feel to them, the ever so perfectly shaped rock that sits among many on the shores of a lake yet somehow it stands out, the occasional mirror-like surface of the river and the miracle of snowflakes. They point them out, and I know what touches their hearts the most. They know of mine.

And then, there is the magic of reminders that are as poignant as they are unique. One night, past midnight and way too close to the witching hour, we heard noises in our sloped back yard. Boys sound asleep cozily nestled in warm beds, we stepped outside.

The next moment I was staring at a beautiful doe. She stared back. Everything was quiet. She walked towards the neighbour’s yard and before swiftly jumping over the low fence, she looked one more time.

We walked up a couple of steps and under the sleepy apricot tree was a buck; not moving a muscle, he looked at us, and he looked towards where the doe went. For a few short seconds we stood, species boundaries notwithstanding, united by the simple magic of being there when no one else was. I could see his breath and I felt privileged.  Never so close… never so magical.

I felt like an intruder, but witnessing their graceful presence reminded me of the big world we should strive to keep alive. It’s a gift like no other.

Perhaps magic is, after all, not only what lies out there but the fact that we choose to see it and that we are, sometimes, given the amazing gift of seeing it. It is not without purpose that that happens. It’s the only way we can find reason to keep it alive; sunlit snowy paths, nighttime deer and all…

Summer In Kamloops. And Why You Cannot Play favourites

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On July 27, 2014

In Armchair Mayor Column, Kamloops, Life Stories, Motherhood

Originally published as a column in the AM News on Friday, July 25, 2014

Summer. RiverIt was a bit of a rushed late afternoon so we had watermelon for dinner. Fate favoured the rushed that day; the watermelon was crisp and sweet and the memories of the few mushy watermelons were erased by the dripping sweetness of the one I guessed right.

Then we headed to Prince Charles Park for the dress rehearsal of the ‘Last of the dragons.’ A neighborly perk you could say, lucky. We did not know what to expect, but we love plays. As we were about to discover, our expectations would’ve been surpassed anyway.

Something that I’ve learned along the years is that tastes differ and my cup of tea may not be yours and the other way around. There is a high chance this play and the one we went to see the second night, ‘Alice in Wonderland,’ may just become our common denominator.

I won’t throw my arms in the air urging you to go see them because you might not be convinced. But here’s what the two plays did for me. They made me laugh, they were so dynamic that you could not take your eyes off the fast-moving actors, the décor and costumes were fault-free and if I had to summarize it in one concise statement, it would be something like this: they made me forget about everything else. They were that good.

Why is that remarkable you may ask? Because other than heading out of phone and internet reach with my family, it rarely happens.

Among devastating news of planes being shot down and other falling down without an apparent cause, pipelines wrongfully approved and wars sprouting like toxic mushrooms in some parts of the world, not to mention the plethora of environmental troubling news flooding my inbox every day, it’s hard to evade and stay there for a while.

Well, I did. The boys too. Their faces in late dusk said it all. I did my best to translate that to the two affable play directors that made it all happen.

The second representation was halted by rain for a few minutes but what better way to play skidding tag than on wet grass in almost darkness while waiting for the play to resume. And it did. We really had to see the ending, the boys said. That’s how you know something it’s worth it.

The next day at the farmer’s market downtown, we ran into one of the actresses and made her acquaintance.

Afterwards, walking with my arms full of raspberries and bright yellow zucchini, the two items our garden does not supply at the moment, I felt like I won the jackpot. Because once again I realized the joy of living in a place small enough to allow for bumping into people you know, but big enough to allow for remarkable things to happen.

To the rest of the world, summers in Kamloops are hot. It’s a desert, right? To me, they are beautiful.  Yes, it is hot, yes our little house becomes an oven on those hot days when the sun seems to fulfill some personal vendetta with the very land we step on, but the richness of all that is happening here is hard to ignore. Our own garden included.

We have good music in the park, we have a farmer’s market where smiles and produce are always fresh, we have plays in the park that make you forget about everything else, we have the kind of town that has a heart you could hear the beats of if you just stop and listen for a few moments.

I don’t have a favourite season you see. I thought fall we moved here two years ago. I had spoken too soon. Winter came and we were sold. Then spring, lilac and wildflowers made it even more difficult.

Then of course, this summer, our first in Kamloops, sealed the deal. There is no favourite. We are a lucky bunch. That’s to be grateful for. Whether it is nature gifting us with beauty, or people putting their hearts and talents out there to make us aware of joy even for a bit, well, that’s to be grateful for. Every season has it.

splashThe skies rained on our parade two days ago, literally, but some goodness came out of it. At the neighborhood gas station today one of the attendants told me a heartwarming story of locals helping out those whose vehicles got submerged at the 10th Street underpass. Shoes were lost, he said. Hearts were found, I concluded.

Lucky us. Say it isn’t so.

Tomato School – Why Gardening Makes Sense

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On July 21, 2014

In Armchair Mayor Column, Environment, Life Stories, Motherhood

Tomato schoolI tried to grow tomatoes in Vancouver many times. The climate did not agree with my intentions and the tomato project became a ‘perhaps one day…’

Then we moved to Kamloops in late summer, just in time for a bountiful harvest at the farmer’s market. Baskets of tomatoes stared me in the face and gave new meaning to paradise found.

Come spring, we made a first shy attempt at gardening, knowing that summer might take us away to visit family overseas. It did. Summer was to be hot and the garden on its own. Still, memories of the basketfuls of tomatoes plus a tomato seedling gift from our neighbour made temptation too hard to resist and tomatoes were planted; so were potatoes and pumpkins.

Then we left. A month and half later, we returned to a wild garden where the tomato were reigning supreme, full of fruit. Some tomatoes were old and wrinkled, others in their prime. For a tomato grower desperado that was a sight to behold. I saved seeds, lots of them.

This year we evacuated grass from half of the back yard and rolled up our sleeves for a more professional approach.

Seed, water, weed, watch grow, weed, wonder how could that be, weed, and repeat as necessary. Yes, it is work. Regardless, it paid off. We have been eating fresh organic veggies since early spring and the fall harvest promises to be a big one, if it matches even remotely the summer one.

Many early mornings have found me in the garden carefully checking each crop, discovering new growth: tiny beans, tiny squashes, tiny tomatoes and assessing the ever-growing corn stalks, staring into their green tunnels of leaves wrapped around each other in an embrace that will end in late fall when fresh-green becomes husky.

On many of those early morning when the boys were still asleep inside and the city was half asleep still, I thought how much parenting resembles gardening. It is an everyday thing, it must be, or else there’s a risk to crops. Persistence, humbleness and knowing that every day brings new wonders. Realizing that it’s a together thing all along. Never thinking of how much work you put in it because the rewards are overwhelming.

Once awake, the boys descend in the garden, and they do so several throughout the day, and then the feasting starts, straight from the garden: lettuce, peas, carrots, kale and herbs. They wrap them up creating earthy hors d’oeuvres that could not taste better.

Not a leaf is wasted, not a pea green blob left uneaten; excess makes it to the dinner table and that comes with thanks. Many.

A few days ago a mega review of some 340 studies settled the dispute on the value of organic food. They are superior to conventional produce. They taste better, have a higher content of antioxidants and other active compounds we benefit from and if you happen to grow it yourself, you ditch waste for good.

There has never been a more urgent time to get children down and dirty. Growing food with them alongside teaches many of the forgotten lessons of today: that you need to work in order to eat, that you have to keep at it if you want to see results, that you cannot rush or else, and that waste is the enemy.

We need to have them learn all of that. Above all, in the culture of waste and abundance (perhaps we need to redefine abundance?) they need to learn the value of food through the revealing sweetness of every green pea they pick out of a pod they’ve seen grow for days.

They will see live seeking life in the garden, they will wonder at the utter perfection of dragonfly wings and the gentle sway of butterfly dances. They get to ask questions.

Meanwhile, you’re growing food. Answers on a plate, some questions left unanswered because how else would kids take the next step when they are about to discover the world. Inquisitive minds should not be taken for granted.

It takes time, sure it does. But so does parenting. So why not combining and make them waltz along while you’re writing the music in green notes? Worth a try, wouldn’t you agree?…

There Is More To Addressing Fear Than Security Cameras And Locked Doors

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On July 15, 2014

In Armchair Mayor Column, Kamloops, Life Stories, Social issues

(Originally published as a column in the AM News on Friday, July 11, 2014)

I remember the days after the Sandy Hook Elementary shooting. My youngest was six at the time and I remember staring at his round fingers grabbing crayons, or an apple, or pointing to something I had to see.

I remember his small hand sinking into mine, nestled like a baby bird that had enough for the day and was looking for the embrace of its shelter. During the first couple of weeks my thoughts were stubbornly returning to the shooting.

Most of the victims were children and they were six. Same small hands with round eager fingers, ready to grab and point. Same curiosity and joy to live.

Another thought that crossed my mind countless times was ‘What if?…’ Every time I’d go there it was like approaching a sudden drop into nowhere. I could not fathom that and I could not construct that kind of reality. My heart went out, still does, to those who ever have to.

But here’s a question: for how long can we entertain fear of that kind before it takes over our lives in an unhealthy way? I’m ready to say not for long.

When our house was broken into I met a different kind of fear. I was afraid of it happening again, we all were for a while after it happened, but we refused to give in. We adults set the tone on that one, and the boys followed, though my feeling is that it went both way for all of us.

We lock our doors nowadays the way we always have and we ask our neighbours to look after our place when we’re away. Could it happen again? Most certainly. Yet living in fear forever is way worse because it robs us of our joy to live and it keeps the shadows that left the house a long time ago present, giving them more substance than they should ever have.

Fear begets fear. There is too much around us as it is, and we are subjecting our children to it too. From bacteria to strangers, we remind them to be afraid of the world they live in. Add to that the recent plans to enhance security around schools and one may wonder about their ability to keep that intrinsic joie de vivre alive with so much to fear.

Prevention is important, we all agree. And so is the old ‘Better safe than sorry.’  But are we truly looking at prevention the right way?

This equation is not an easy one to solve and it has more terms than one. Mental health and poverty to start with.

Are we making sure that the early signs of mental health imbalances are being addressed properly and the stigma associated with such issues is slowly becoming a thing of the past?

Are we teaching children, teenagers and adults too about mental issues and their serious implications, while at the same time making sure that early intervention, adequate services including counselling and treatment are available to those in need, regardless of their social status?

Fear is part of life. Our ancestors used to stay alive and nowadays, fear is what makes us capable of outstanding things when outstanding is needed of us. A healthy sense of fear keeps children safe, there is no debate about that.

But fear and life skills have to be taught at the same time; children have to know that there is more to addressing fear than barricading ourselves behind locked doors and having the security cameras on stand-by, lest a bird sits on one…

Children experience fear, they need protection and reassurance. They are afraid of losing their parents, of not being liked and accepted by their peers and of trees swaying too wildly during a big storm.

But they also live in the moment. Yesterday’s intense fear is replaced by the excitement of new things they discover today and the joy of playing.

Security measures are a good thing, they are, but outfitting schools with too much might do the opposite for our children.

It will keep reminding them of a putative evil that no matter how remote the risks of, becomes more of a reality with every day they see the security features in place, pinning their imagination to an awful scenario, the kind they are instinctually programmed to forget about…

How is that not to fear, given the insidious long term effects of living under the dark, unforgiving cloud of ‘What if?…’

Are We Witnessing The Disappearance Of Something We’re Equipped To Do So Well and Benefit From?

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On June 18, 2014

In Armchair Mayor Column, Life Stories, Self-improvement, Social issues

(Originally published as a column in the AM News on Friday June 13, 2014)

In yet another attempt to purge some of the dust-collecting items in our home, I went through the old correspondence drawers. Two of them.

I kept all letters that my parents wrote from the time I left home at the age of 18, same with my sister’s , and my close friends’ also. I kept the greeting cards too.

It was only two drawers, one and a half to be precise, so it shouldn’t have taken too long. But it did. I got caught up in reading some of the letters, including some very candid ones written by my niece when she turned seven and was trying her hand, literally, at handwriting.

Then an old nag surfaced. The disappearance of handwriting. Cursive writing, as we call it.

My sons have always been fascinated with the magic of it. They love the roundness of words as they appear on the paper, and they love the almost mysterious nature of a handwritten letter.

Many of today’s kids type instead of writing down on paper, because they’ve learned to do it so fast you get dizzy just looking at them do it. They get even faster by using acronyms for everything and writing as if they drew letters and numbers from a hat and threw them on the screen. Spelling is taking a hard hit as we speak.

Short words become shorter and so does attention span.

Most of today’s children will not write a single handwritten letter or have a journal. Have you tried handwriting after typing for a while? It’s painfully slow, you make mistakes, and the hand seems to be disconnected from the brain. Patience is a precious, rare commodity these days.

But what also happens is that when you write things down, they seem to stick better.

Some researchers who looked into how the brain does it all went as far as to suggest that in some cases dyslexia may be lessened should we return children to good old handwriting. It’s worth a try anyway.

Because, they say, when you struggle to learn how to write that letter, many areas of the brain fire up and there’s a whole process involved in mastering it.

Printing and typing, or writing the letters following a dotted line just don’t get the brain firing up so intensely.

Journal writing, by hand, has been used a therapeutical tool by many a psychologists over the years and many people swear by keeping a written account of their days. Ideas flow freely, you just allow the brain to drip onto the paper and the time dedicated to it is a time of solitude and an opportunity for introspection.

A mirror of some sort, you could say.

When we write by hand we become mindful by default.

Reflection time gives us a measure of where we are in the world, allows us to think without being rushed and encourages brain and personality growth.

The letters I was perusing a couple of days ago tell more than the stories within. They are a reflection of the people who wrote them; a glimpse into time, then. Just like that, my many journals over the years tell stories of more than just life happenings.

Letters and journals are human maps. You can read emotions, just like you can read words. I cannot escape the feeling that we will lose something precious and essential to our nature if we live them behind.

Typing may be fast and efficient but it’ll never be the same. Acronyms have been around for a while. Journalists and students jotting notes have always employed them with success. While handwriting, that is.

Students taking notes by hand learn better than when they type course notes. Having but paper and pen, and a whole lot of attention directed to the teacher rather than a handling a laptop, while simultaneously texting or updating some social media status, keeps you present in a room where you’re supposed to do nothing but acquire knowledge, think and ideally, ask enough questions to start healthy and topic-oriented debates.

Writing things down makes you think. Hitting backspace starts happening before you write things down more often than not. Perhaps that could serve as an enhancing feature of ‘freedom of expression.’

The Magic Of Rain And Leaves

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On April 15, 2014

In Armchair Mayor Column, Environment, Life Stories, Social issues

(Originally published as a column in the AM News on April 11, 2014 under the same title.)

Tale tellers...My dad knew how to tell whether the day would be a rainy one or not. He would choose when to sow seeds in the garden in early spring that way.

Thin clouds piling in all shades of orange over the hills as the sun was setting told more than the story of a day ending; they talked about the day to come.

Swallows flying close to the ground were also a sign of impending rain, I was told from early on. And just like that, I knew that if I found freshly-woven spider webs during my stroll through the garden in early morning, there will be no rain; a good thing during the much-loved summer vacation days.

In the woods or around the yard, I knew which berries were good to eat and which were not. I knew that the leaves of raspberry bushes were good for tea and that when baby chickens come out of the egg their puffy coat is all wet.

On April 7 the boys’ school (and the whole School District 73) hosted ‘Day of Sucwentwecw – to acknowledge one another,’ a first ever celebration of this kind. Students got to listen to an elder talking about the traditional people around Kamloops.

The boys brought home a newspaper, The Secwepemc News. There were stories of people who worked or work to preserve the culture and to revive it. There were stories about traditions and how life was lived according to seasons, and how knowing about nature kept people alive and thriving. Nature-inspired stories passed on from elders to youth and children were never just entertainment but lessons.

It was the drawing of rose hips that sent me back to growing up and to everything life meant back then. I remembered the tangy deep orange tea my mom made from rose hips and how it was one of the best drinks in winter because rose hips are very rich in vitamin C.

The thought of today’s children sprouted without warning.

Equipped with smartphones and getting used to opening a package to find food, how connected to life can they be and how much of a feeling of belonging to the place we call Earth can they develop as they grow?

20140412_121358Will they know that certain herbal teas can take care of headaches or stomach aches and how to read signs of spring in the world around them? Will they know how to forage for food if they had do?

It is a refrain we hear often enough: eat what’s in season. Yet how many adults know what’s in season where they live? A couple of generations ago people’s connection to nature meant avoiding starvation.

Do today’s children have a chance to learn about that connection?

Ushered from school to classes to stores and then tucked into bed at night, how much time is there to understand how nature does its thing? If a bee is but a bug that flies from flower to flower and looks very much like a wasp – can you tell the difference? – but the vital connection between bees and crops and food on the table is never made, will children grow to understand the consequences of bee colonies collapsing?

If children never understand that medicine once meant knowing which leaves to pick to make tea out of and that picking ripe fruit and veggies is the result of sowing, weeding and knowing how to keep the earth healthy by feeding it not chemicals, but compost or manure, and thus completing a circle that was never meant to be broken if we are to stay healthy, they are robbed of what should’ve been a birth right.

If we gave an older person whose connection with nature has been strengthened by passed-down knowledge and experience a smartphone or a high-tech device that many of today’s children can handle with their eyes closed, they’d look awkward in their lack of understanding of how these devices work.

Yet they have the knowledge of putting food on the table and of how to survive based on signs that nature gives freely to all, which most of today’s children lack.

Now imagine combining the two types of knowledge. They should not be mutually exclusive of each other. Their co-existence means that children can have a true measure of life and they can be raised in gratitude of it.

Stories of oldThe slow pace of acquiring life and nature knowledge, the trials and errors that have guided people from the beginning of times in their quest to stay alive, is what we cannot afford to leave behind.

They give us and our children a chance to reconsider our choices, shape them to match the past knowledge and accommodate the future.

The knowledge of the past and the facts of today is what we have to build our future with.

Resourcefulness dictates that we make use of both if we are to provide our children with a sense of where they come from and where they are headed.

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