Family stories aren’t fairy tales — but kids still need to hear them

My father was always the storyteller in our family. Growing up, there were certain ones that became canon: the time his National Guard unit flattened an entire stand of trees trying to winch their tanks out of a swamp, or the night I was almost born on Manhattan’s FDR Drive.

And when I was a teenager, my dad told me about a night he was supposed to drive with his friend from New York City to his friend’s house on Long Island, and the car broke down. It was late, they couldn’t find a rental and my dad was ready to give up. But they finally found a car and arrived at the house around 3 a.m. That was the weekend he met my mom. Even after losing her to a long illness, my dad would still tell that story with joy.