When my daughters were young, each time my father visited they wanted to be at the kitchen table with him.

That was especially true when their Papa returned from a hunting trip.

The girls would sit at the table enthralled as they listened to him.

That wasn’t because they were interested in hunting. They just wanted to hear his stories.

My dad was the kind of man who could stop at his favorite diner and walk away with stories to tell.

I always marveled at how he could be away on a short hunting trip yet come home with so many stories.

He was simply a great storyteller.

When he came back from deer or bear hunting, the first thing we asked him was: Did you get anything?

Often, the answer was no, especially in later years when he would say, “Those animals never did anything to me. Why should I shoot them?”

But he was a true outdoor man who loved being on the mountain and hiking in the woods.

I think it was the outdoor experience and hunting with his buddies that he relished.

I always loved the way he could share his experiences.

There came a time in my life when I became acutely aware that I wouldn’t have my parents forever. As someone who spent years interviewing people for stories, I decided to interview my parents so I could preserve their memories for our family.

I started with my dad, since he was the renowned storyteller. But I was shocked when he refused to do it.

“You’re the storyteller, not me. I only went up to fifth grade,” he said.

“That’s a story,” I said. “Why did you quit school so early?”

He said his father died right before he was born, leaving his mother with five children and no way to support them. As the boys were old enough, they had to quit school to work in a coal hole to help put food on the table.

It was startling to realize back then being in fifth grade was considered “old enough.”

Dad never once said the family was poor. He said everyone had it tough back then.

It was his story about green apples that let me know just how poor they were.

One day when he was hungry with nothing to eat he climbed a neighborhood apple tree and stuffed himself with green apples.

He laughed when he told me about getting the worst stomachache in his life because of those apples.

He laughed, too, when he told me about filling a burlap bag with coal then standing on the highway to sell it.

Dad never thought he had a tough life. “I had a good life,” he often said.

It was only through the stories he told that I understood his life and what he had to overcome. One thing I never understood was how someone could have that kind of deprivation and still think life was wonderful.

He was my hero.

My mother told me the worse day in my father’s life was when the family coal hole flooded and they couldn’t work until they pumped out the independent mine.

Something caused an explosion and his beloved brother Chick was caught in the fire. My father heard his brother’s screams as he burned to death but was powerless to help.

It was something he could never talk about because it was too painful.

My mother told only a few remnants about her tough early life. Her father, who was unbelievably mean, threw her out of the house when she was in sixth grade. She had to live with her older sisters, earning her keep by babysitting and cleaning for other people.

I never heard her talk about having a good time as a youngster. It was only when I brought home my first boyfriend that I realized my mother also had fun in her life.

When Mom quizzed Kenny about his parents, she was excited to learn his mother was one of her former best friends. She told me how they went skating each week and how much she loved it. It was in that skating rink that she met the handsome guy she married.

Do your parents ever talk about how they met? If not, it’s a good starting place for you to ask about the life your parents had before you came along.

My daughter Maria made the observation that kids don’t know what their parents went through in life.

“Knowing their stories might mend a hold or two in your own life,” she said.

Knowing family stories can also teach you a lot about your own life.

My mother tells the story about Frank, a boarder everyone hated. Except me.

As a baby, Mom said I reached my arms out to Frank whenever he went by. He would pick me up and gleefully carry me around the house.

When she told the story, I learned something about me: I always loved people.

The story also told me how to get along with difficult people: Love them first.

Researchers have found that sharing family stories across generations strengthens family bonds. It connects generations.

Most of all, family stories can help you understand yourself as well as your family.

Want to leave a legacy? Capture those family stories for you and future generations.

Contact Pattie Mihalik at newsgirl@comcast.net.