Thus, Papa insisted that we learn at least one new thing each day. Though, as children, we thought this was crazy, it would never have occurred to us to deny Papa a request. And dinner time seemed perfect for sharing what we had learned. We would talk about the news of the day; no matter how insignificant, it was never taken lightly. Papa would listen carefully and was ready with some comment, always to the point.

Then came the moment—the time to share the day’s new learning.

Papa, at the head of the table, would push back his chair and pour a glass of red wine, ready to listen.

“Felice,” he’d say, “tell me what you learned today.”

“I learned that the population of Nepal is ....”

Silence.

Papa was thinking about what was said, as if the salvation of the world would depend upon it. “The population of Nepal. Hmm. Well….” he’d say. “Get the map; let’s see where Nepal is.” And the whole family went on a search for Nepal.

This same experience was repeated until each family member had a turn. Dinner ended only after we had a clear understanding of at least half a dozen such facts.

As children, we thought very little about these educational wonders. Our family, however, was growing together, sharing experiences and participating in one another’s education. And by looking at us, listening to us, respecting our input, affirming our value, giving us a sense of dignity, Papa was unquestionably our most influential teacher.

Later during my training as a future teacher, I studied with some of the most famous educators. They were imparting what Papa had known all along—the value of continual learning. His technique has served me well all my life. Not a single day has been wasted, though I can never tell when knowing the population of Nepal might prove useful.

When I was 4, our family took the train across the country to visit our grandparents. Because I was so little, I don’t remember much. But I do have a few memories of our stay there.

Grandfather had some tomatoes growing on the north side of his house, just outside the back door to the kitchen. I found a nice green tomato. I picked it and brought it with both hands and came into the kitchen and gave it to Grandpa. “Look, Grandpa, what I found!” He thanked me with a smile, and showed me he was putting it on the window sill(窗台). I was so happy, and I headed back outside, telling Grandfather I’d bring him some more. But my mom caught me and said, “No, no, no, green tomatoes are bad for health!” Grandmother sat in her wheelchair in the living room by the front door. We played games with her.

Soon, our visit ended and we had to go home. We left Grandmother to go back to the train station. It was several hours’ drive away. We all squeezed into Grandfather’s car.

A few years later, our family was living in Colorado. Grandfather came to visit us! He came by plane to Denver, and after a long drive, my father picked him up. During the weeks Grandfather stayed with us like most children, I’d go out and play in the back yard with him every day. I’m sure it was a precious time for Grandfather and my parents, too. I remember that when he was leaving in the airplane, we could see him in the airplane window, looking grieved. I never saw Grandfather again from then on, because we moved even further away. But we didn’t forget him.

At the age of ten, my parents thought that I should learn to play an instrument. They chose guitar lessons for me. I had no interest in playing it. All that I wanted to do was to improve my soccer skills. However, my parents believed that playing soccer was a waste of my valuable time. They thought I should use the time to focus on school and develop my brain by taking on a difficult task, such as learning to play music.

However, since the first day of the lessons, I disliked the guitar. While learning to play the guitar, I just wanted to play soccer as much as I could. But what could a ten-­year­-old do when his parents said they would punish him if he didn’t do what they told him to do? Even though I loathed the guitar lessons with all my heart, I went to the instructor week after week. And week after week, I would come back and be tired of the lessons and of the amount of practice required.

After wasting a year of my life learning how to play the guitar, I still had not made much progress. My parents began to realize that I was not born to play the guitar and that I was not having fun trying to learn, either. They finally understood how much I wanted to play soccer. So after one bad year, my parents called the music instructor and told him I would no longer take guitar lessons.

I was very happy. Now I play soccer every day and I play it very well. I do think parents should let their children do what they’re good at and what they truly love.