The value of those who came before us / El valor de los que vinieron antes que nosotros (eng-esp)

Greetings, friends of @holos-lotus.

My grandfather had a unique way of telling stories. He didn't use dates or famous names. He talked about what they ate, how much a kilo of bread cost, how they managed when there was no electricity. I was young and sometimes bored. Now I'd give anything to sit next to him again and listen.

https://pixabay.com/photos/elderly-child-feet-hand-wrinkles-3628304/

We are slow to understand that previous generations are not a museum. They are an instruction manual. They have already lived through what we are living through. Or different versions, but with the same basic structure. Money problems, relationship problems, work problems. Illnesses, losses, joys. They have already experienced all of that. And although the world changes, human emotions remain the same.

https://pixabay.com/photos/infant-parents-father-child-hand-1321548/

Respecting those who came before is not an act of courtesy. It is an act of intelligence. They made mistakes that we can avoid. They found solutions that we can take advantage of. It's not about living in the past. It's about not having to start from scratch every time. A bricklayer doesn't build a house without a foundation. Nor should we build our lives without knowing what supports the ground beneath our feet.

https://pixabay.com/photos/elderly-hands-ring-walking-stick-981400/

I know many people who dismiss the past simply because it's older. They consider it outdated, obsolete, irrelevant. And they miss out on everything that works: ways of educating, of relating to others, of facing adversity. Not everything old is good, of course. But dismissing it without examining it is foolish. It's like refusing to look at a map because it's made of paper.

https://pixabay.com/photos/baking-children-cooking-education-1951256/

In my case, understanding where I come from has given me perspective. My father worked for forty years in the same factory. Not because he loved it, but because he fed three children. That taught me that work isn't always a calling. Sometimes it's a responsibility. My mother would get up at six to have everything ready before going to work. That taught me that order isn't a quirk, it's a way of loving. They didn't tell me those things with words. They showed me with actions. And I absorbed them without even realizing it.

Now that I'm a father, I try to pass that on to my children. Not with speeches. By taking them to see their grandparents. By telling them stories over dinner. By pointing to a photo and saying, "That was your great-grandfather, look how he's smiling." I want them to know that they didn't just appear out of thin air. That there's a chain of people who sweated and cried and laughed so that they could be sitting in that chair today.

https://pixabay.com/photos/boy-man-piggyback-posterior-373441/

Knowing where we come from doesn't tell us exactly where we're going. But it gives us a direction. It keeps us from getting lost down alleys others have already walked. It reminds us that we're not the first to feel fear, nor the last to have hope. And that, on bad days, is a relief. Because it means that others before us also had bad days. And they survived. And so will we.

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Leer en español

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Saludos, estimados de @holos-lotus.

Mi abuelo tenía una forma particular de contar las cosas. No usaba fechas ni nombres ilustres. Hablaba de lo que comían, de lo que costaba un kilo de pan, de cómo se las arreglaban cuando no había luz. Yo era joven y a veces me aburría. Ahora daría cualquier cosa por volver a sentarme a su lado y escuchar.

https://pixabay.com/photos/elderly-child-feet-hand-wrinkles-3628304/

Tardamos en entender que las generaciones anteriores no son un museo. Son un manual de instrucciones. Ellos ya vivieron lo que nosotros estamos viviendo. O versiones distintas, pero con el mismo esqueleto. Problemas de dinero, de pareja, de trabajo. Enfermedades, pérdidas, alegrías. Todo eso ya pasó por ellos. Y aunque el mundo cambie, las emociones humanas son las mismas.

https://pixabay.com/photos/infant-parents-father-child-hand-1321548/

Respetar a quienes vinieron antes no es un acto de cortesía. Es un acto de inteligencia. Ellos cometieron errores que nosotros podemos evitar. Ellos encontraron soluciones que nosotros podemos aprovechar. No se trata de vivir en el pasado. Se trata de no tener que empezar de cero cada vez. Un albañil no construye una casa sin cimientos. Nosotros tampoco deberíamos construir nuestra vida sin saber qué sostiene el suelo que pisamos.

https://pixabay.com/photos/elderly-hands-ring-walking-stick-981400/

Conozco a mucha gente que desprecia lo anterior por el simple hecho de ser anterior. Lo consideran anticuado, superado, irrelevante. Y se pierden todo lo que funciona. Formas de educar, de relacionarse, de afrontar la adversidad. No todo lo viejo es bueno, claro. Pero descartarlo sin examinarlo es una estupidez. Es como negarse a mirar un mapa porque es de papel.

https://pixabay.com/photos/baking-children-cooking-education-1951256/

En mi caso, entender de dónde vengo me ha dado perspectiva. Mi padre trabajó cuarenta años en la misma fábrica. No porque le encantara, sino porque daba de comer a tres hijos. Eso me enseñó que el trabajo no siempre es vocación. A veces es responsabilidad. Mi madre se levantaba a las seis para tenerlo todo listo antes de irse a trabajar. Eso me enseñó que el orden no es una manía, es una forma de querer. Ellos no me dijeron esas cosas con palabras. Me las mostraron con hechos. Y yo las he incorporado sin darme cuenta.

Ahora que soy padre, intento transmitir eso a mis hijos. No con discursos. Llevándolos a ver a sus abuelos. Contándoles historias mientras cenamos. Señalando una foto y diciendo: ese era tu bisabuelo, mira cómo sonríe. Quiero que sepan que no aparecieron aquí por generación espontánea. Que hay una cadena de gente que sudó y lloró y rió para que ellos estén hoy sentados en esa silla.

https://pixabay.com/photos/boy-man-piggyback-posterior-373441/

Saber de dónde venimos no nos dice exactamente a dónde vamos. Pero nos da una dirección. Nos evita perdernos en callejones que otros ya recorrieron. Nos recuerda que no somos los primeros en sentir miedo, ni los últimos en tener esperanza. Y eso, en los días malos, es un alivio. Porque significa que otros antes que nosotros también tuvieron días malos. Y sobrevivieron. Y nosotros también.