by Peggy Strickland

Created on: October 14, 2009

Memorable family traditions are integral to the dynamics of a nurturing home environment; activities or rituals that your family enjoys, maybe even as rarely as just once a year, but still anticipated with reverence and joy.

Perhaps almost ceremonial is that practice of getting out the Christmas dishes to usher in the holiday season in your home. Maybe it's just a weekend movie with the family piled on the sofa together sharing popcorn. Whatever the scope or seeming insignificance of such an activity, it can hold a special place in the heart of your child, and of the adult that child becomes.

Think back to something special shared with a grandparent or other beloved figure; some seemingly insignificant, yet poignant occurrence that you associate with a specific location or activity, or scent, or texture. Consider the rationale behind this small activity sticking in your mind or heart for all these years.

Among my fondest early childhood recollections is a memory vividly imprinted on my mind and soul, that of sharing coffee with my grandfather on chilly mornings. In those days, our nuclear family encompassed more than just mother, father, and child; providing, one might say, the ultimate symbiotic relationship. Children benefited from the wisdom of aged mentors; those same aging ones delighted in the unconditional love only grandchildren can bestow.

In my mind's eye I can see us. Shrouded in a heavy quilt before a wood-burning stove, we waited in companionable silence for the old coffeepot to complete its melodious percolation. The aroma was a heady, weighted thing, imprinting itself on my sleepy brain.

My grandfather would carefully measure three level teaspoons of sugar into each of our thin, china cups, and a generous amount of rich cream, fresh from our cow, Polly. Then, he would pour carefully from my cup into my saucer, to allow the creamy concoction to cool. I sipped this warm, fragrant brew, little knowing how that moment would be with me always.

Other treasured bits of nostalgia take on weighty import when recalled today. We may have been literally poor, our family barely eking out a just comfortable existence. Yet, we were rich.

Today, I am so fortunate to be allowed to nurture the growth of a burgeoning human treasure. My son is the "Child of my Heart", and his son is the "Little Child of My Heart."

I cannot know the mind of my grandfather, as he painted my world with such vibrant, colorful memories. But, I know the feelings engendered in me, with

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