2 . My mother used to take me to my grandparents’ in Belgium during the school holidays. While I would play chess with my grandfather, he would tell me stories about growing up, falling in love, and travelling around the world.

I didn’t realize the importance of preserving memories until my grandfather passed away, which ultimately changed my outlook on remembering our loved ones and the stories we share. I thought about solutions to help other people record the precious memories for those they love—before it’s too late. So I began matching ghostwriters (代笔人) to clients to help them write a book as smoothly and beautifully as possible, and Story Terrace was born.

Since then, we have explored the power of stories and their ability to connect us with our past and make sense of the present. It has been documented that increased family connection is significantly linked to less loneliness. Learning more about one’s family history, however, has been linked to boosting emotional health, increasing compassion and providing a deeper sense of cultures and traditions.

What we have found through our own research is that so many of us have missed out on the opportunity to explore our origins. 56 percent of Brits agreed that much of their family history is lost because they are no longer able to speak with the person who knows the most about it. A further 51 percent expressed regret as they wished they could tell their younger self to document their family’s life story, feeling that most of it had been forgotten. But when it comes to telling these stories, many don’t know where to begin.

We have seen numerous times when people come to us with random journal entries and notes from over the years, and these can be developed into a wonderful work of art that can be passed down for generations to come.

Half of the projects we see at StoryTerrace are heritage stories, with family occupying a dominant theme for most stories. Alongside this, common themes we see are of course love, overcoming challenges, settling in new surroundings and so on. However, family is a thread that always ties these together.

5 . How to Teach Your Child to Be a Good Friend

Your child who struggles with making friends and maintaining friendships may exhibit some behavioral issues. Physical aggression and name-calling often arise. A quiet character and social anxiety can also lead to difficulty making friends    1    

Instill self-esteem(灌输自尊思想). The first step in teaching your child to be a good friend is to teach them to take pride in themselves.    2    Additionally, a child with a strong sense of self will build healthier friendships down the road.

Teach social skills.    3    Role-play with your child to teach them how to have polite conversations with others. Practise taking turns, sharing, respecting other people’s boundaries, and showing care for their feelings. Your child also needs to know how to apologize, argue with a friend respectfully and listen to others.

    4    From Frog and Toad to Winnie the Pooh and Christopher Robin, children’s literature is filled with strong friendships. Use books as an opportunity to talk about what makes those friendships work, and what qualities the characters displayed to develop their friendships.

Find teachable moments. As a parent, you may run into situations where your child doesn’t act like the best friend they could be. Your child may have moments of conflict, drama and fights with their friends. Try to turn these moments into teachable moments.    5    Eventually, they’ll get the hang of it. With your guidance and a little practice, your child will turn into a caring, kind and trustworthy friend.

6 . When reading, my mother likes to slice a paragraph or a sentence out and attach it to the wall of her kitchen. She picks boring sentences that puzzle me. But I prefer copying favorite bright lines into a journal in soft, gray No. 2 pencil, word by word.

She doesn’t know any of this. There's nothing shocking: for our chatting. we seldom begin certain conversations though we talk on the phone weekly, sometimes making each other laugh so hard that I choke and she cries. But what we don't say could fill up rooms. Fights with my father. Small failures in school. Anything that really upsets us.

My mother has never told me “I love you, Lisa.”—as if the four-word absence explains who I am—so I carry it with me, like a label on me. The last time she almost spoke the words was two years ago, when she called to tell me a friend had been in hospital. I said, “I love you, Mom.” She stopped for a while and then said, “Thank you.” I haven't said it since, but I've wondered why my mother doesn't until I've found a poem that supplies words for the blank spaces I try to understand in our conversations:

Don’t fill up on bread. I say absent-mindedly. The servings here are huge.

My son, middle-aged, says: Did you really just say that to me?

What he doesn’t know is that when we’re walking together, I desire to reach for his hand.

It's humble, yet heartbreaking. After copying it down in my journal, I emailed it to mom, adding “This poem makes me think of you.” My mother doesn’t read poetry—or at least, she doesn’t tell me, and I felt nervous clicking “Send”.

She never mentioned the poem. But the next time I went home for vacation, I noticed something new in the kitchen fixed to an antique board: the poem. The board hung above the heater, the warmest spot in the kitchen. The poem still hangs there. Neither my mother nor I have ever spoken about it.

8 . Yesterday, after arriving in Madrid, I knocked on a stranger’s door. “I searched on the website. Will you give me lessons?” I asked. This was the reason I’d come to Spain. Because I once believed I was meant to be a female flamenco (弗拉门戈) guitarist.

Forty-five years ago, when I was two, my father also came to Madrid and knocked on strangers’ doors. A well-known classical guitarist, he admired flamenco a lot, and in Spain he learnt from anyone willing to teach him. He approached performers in bars, made friends with street musicians and managed to study with Paco de Lucia, the greatest flamenco guitarist of our time.

I started playing classical guitar when I was five. My father’s hands exploded across the strings like fireworks. I practised while he instructed and criticized. I played till I had sharp pain in my fingertips. By age seven, I was called a child genius.

Then, at 11, I quit. Heartbroken, my father distanced himself. Guiltily, I followed suit. Soon we spoke only when necessary. Our relationship didn’t rebound until, in my early 20s, I found myself pulled back to guitar.

When I was in my early 30s, he got sick. Before he died a few years later, my father told me there were almost no female flamenco guitarists in the world. If I kept practising, I could be one of the first. I promised, and he left me his guitar. But after he died, I couldn’t bear to play it. He’d spent so much time with his arms around that instrument, and it seemed an extension of his own body. Holding it gave my grief an unbearable tangibility (可触知). So for 13 years it sat mostly untouched, coming out only when my son Ellis begged to see it. He was careful with his grandfather’s instrument in a way that made me want to pass it down to him — both the guitar and the music. Problem was, I couldn’t really play anymore.

Now, Antonia is sitting with me in her living room, teaching me patiently. I have been here for only two days, and already my fingers hurt. It’s a sharp pain, like when a fallen-asleep limb (肢体) returns to life. The feeling delights me. It means I’m doing something right.

9 . For my 56th birthday, my daughter, Beth, bought me two beautifully carved wooden butterflies. I hung them in prominent (显眼的) places on my walls so that I can see them often during the day. Each time I do so, they give me a wonderful reminder of love.

My daughter and my love of butterflies goes back many years. After a long battle against cancer, my mom passed away when I was only 25 years old. Beth was only a baby at the time and never got to have any memories of her grandma. I tried to make up for it by telling her stories of my mom but each time I did, I could see that there was a little sadness in Beth’s eyes. One day when she was only seven or so we were outside at the playground. Beth suddenly said how much she saddened not having her grandma around. Well, sometimes I comforted her and this time I told her how much her grandma loved her and that Grandma still remained positive in the last weeks of her life. I said she was watching over her from Heaven and that maybe she was even hitching (搭乘) a ride on the back of a butterfly to come down and get a closer look. At that very moment, a butterfly appeared flying around Beth’s face and then flew away. We both laughed with our hearts full of love and joy.

Since that moment all of those years ago, both Beth and I seem to attract butterflies like flowers. Whenever we are outside, they seem to fly down, circle around us, take a good look, and then fly away. And every time, we are reminded of my mom’s love watching over us. The only time this doesn’t happen is during the coldest months of the year when there are no insects of any kind. But now during those times I can take a look at the two beautiful wooden butterflies my daughter bought me and still be reminded of that love.

10 . Surgeon General Dr. Vivek Murthy recently declared children’s mental health is a national crisis.

In December 2021,Dr.Murthy issued a report to highlight the additional pressures the COVID- 19 pandemic(流行病)had put on the country’s youth, and the urgent need to address this. The impact of this crisis is far-reaching, and new research shows that it’s affecting parents’well-being, plus their ability to succeed at work and provide for their families.

“On Our Sleeves, a national movement that aims to break shame around children’s mental health, surveyed more than 3,000 working parents across the US and found that eight in 10 parents are very concerned about their child’s mental health and development or behavior in the past two years. Children’s mental health concerns have been hiding in plain sight for many years, surrounded by confusion and shame,”says Marti Bledsoe Post, the director of On Our Sleeves.

The survey found that 53% of working parents have missed work at least once per month to deal with their children’s mental health. And 71% of parents said issues with their child’s mental or emotional well-being made the stresses of work much more difficult to cope with.

“Employers need to know that many of their employees are struggling and it impinging their work as a result,”says Bledsoe Post.“Our mission with On Our Sleeves is to provide every family in America access to free, evidence-based educational resources. We see this study as incredibly important in starting the conversation and providing solutions for working families.”

As Morin points out, for some parents, taking a child to weekly treating appointments, attending and meetings at school consumes a lot of time. These parents should be helped, but how?