I never asked my father the questions that mattered. By the time I knew what they were, he was gone. So Mum and I have made a plan: one question a week, for a year. These are the 52 questions, and why I think they’ll work.
My father died in Korea during the pandemic while I was here in Perth. I’ve written about the goodbye I never said. What I haven’t written about is what came after.
I knew my father’s long talks by heart. Whatever the subject, he would begin generations back and walk forward, year by year, until he finally reached the point. Every single time. I knew exactly how his stories travelled. But I didn’t know his first love, or the teacher he still remembered, or what he was afraid of as a boy.
I had decades to ask. I didn’t, because there was always a next time.
A call of our own
My mother is in her eighties now, on the other side of the ocean. Every Sunday evening, our whole family rings her and my mother-in-law in Korea. It’s one of the fixed points of our week. But the words are always the same. Are you eating properly, Mum? Does anything hurt?
So I’ve asked her for something new: one call a week, just the two of us.
I told her, “Mum, I don’t want to hear whether you’ve eaten. I want to hear your story. The ones I don’t know. Don’t think of me as your daughter. Think of it as looking back over the life you’ve lived. Every week, I’ll tell you next week’s question ahead of time, so you can think about it on your own. Eighty years and more. There must be so many stories. Enjoy your own life for a while.”
She loved it. We haven’t had our first one yet.
And I made her a promise in return. I’ll tell her my stories too. Not a daughter interviewing her mother. Two old friends, taking turns.
That’s where the name came from. Two Old Friends is what I hope we become.
Why one question a week works
Most of us know we should ask our parents about their lives. Very few of us do it, and when we try, it often goes wrong. We sit down with a list of twenty questions, our parent feels like they’re being examined, and the conversation dies by question three.
One question a week fixes three things.
It takes the pressure off. One question is small enough to ask over the phone, at dinner, or in the car. It doesn’t need an occasion.
It gives memories time to come back. Older people often say “I don’t remember” the first time, and then, two days later, ring you with the whole story. A week leaves room for that.
It turns a project into a habit. Fifty-two weeks is a year. By the end, you haven’t just collected answers. You’ve built a new way of talking to each other.
Taking turns
And there’s one rule that changes everything: you answer the question too.
For me, this rule is personal. On our calls, Mum talks and I listen. I ask, she answers. When it’s my turn, I hesitate, and then I say, “Oh, Mum, we’d need a whole day for that one. Never mind.” And she says, “I know even if you don’t tell me. I carried you. You think I don’t know my own daughter?”
But the truth is, there’s far more she doesn’t know. And I want to tell her. All of it.
I know even if you don’t tell me. I carried you.
Mum
We haven’t started yet, but I already know which two questions I’m waiting for. Question 47: What kind of person do you want to be remembered as? And Question 52: What’s the first thing you want us to do together, as friends?
To me, she has always been Mum, and Dad’s wife. I want to hear who she says she is, outside those roles. I want to give her time to look back on her life as one woman, in her own words, not as the mother I remember. That, I believe, is what she would want to leave behind. And it’s what I want to give her now.
The 52 questions, season by season
I grouped the questions into four seasons, moving gently from childhood to legacy. Start in spring. The easy questions build trust for the harder ones later.
Spring: childhood, parents and school
- What’s the very earliest thing you remember?
- Draw me the house you grew up in. Where was your favourite spot?
- When you were little, what kind of dad was Grandpa? If you had to sum him up in one word?
- When you picture Grandma as a mother, what do you see?
- Is there a childhood friend you still think of, but have never told me about?
- What games did you play as a child?
- Of everything you ate as a child, what was the most special?
- What were you most afraid of as a child?
- What was your first day of school like?
- Which teacher do you still remember?
- Was there a dream you were too shy to say out loud, even to me?
- What rule did you break as a teenager that your parents never found out about?
- What was the first thing you did all on your own that made you feel grown up?
Tip: Question 2 is my favourite way to begin. Hand your parent a pen and paper. People who say “I don’t remember anything” will draw a kitchen, a gate, a tree, and suddenly they’re telling you who sat where.
Summer: love, work and leaving home
- When did you first leave home?
- Who was your first love?
- What was your first impression of Dad (or Mum)? How did you two meet?
- From your wedding day, what’s one moment that isn’t in any photo?
- What was your first home together like?
- After you married, what did you discover about them that you hadn’t known before?
- What was your first job?
- As a parent and a partner, what are you most proud of?
- Who helped you most in your working life?
- If you’d lived a completely different life, what would it have been?
- How many times did we move? Which house do you remember most?
- What’s the biggest moment in history you lived through? Where were you when it happened?
- If you could live one of your happiest days all over again, which day would it be?
Autumn: parenthood and hard times
- How did you feel when you learned you’d be a parent?
- Tell me one thing about the day your first child was born that you’ve never told anyone.
- When I was little, what did I do that you had to scold me for, but secretly found funny?
- What was the hardest part of raising children?
- Was there something you really wanted, but gave up because of us?
- Have you ever kept something from me, to protect me?
- Which hard time in your life do you think I still don’t really understand?
- What kept you going through the hard times?
- Was there a loss you grieved quietly, without anyone noticing?
- When money was tight, what did you hide from us kids, and how?
- Is there a choice you still feel you got absolutely right?
- Is there a choice you truly regret? Is there a moment you’d go back to?
- Who do you need to forgive, or be forgiven by?
A gentle note: Some of these autumn questions might bring up a difficult memory. Tears aren’t a sign you’ve done something wrong. If your mum or dad gets tearful, you can ask, “Would you like to keep talking, or shall we leave it there for today?” Sometimes “Thank you for telling me” is all you need to say.
Winter: growing older, legacy and becoming friends
- How old were you when you first thought, “I’m getting old”?
- What does a good day look like for you now?
- Who do you miss that I never got to meet?
- What did you do that you were proud of, but no one ever praised you for?
- Looking back over your whole life, what are you most grateful for?
- Is there still something you want to try, to learn, or somewhere to go?
- What does death mean to you now?
- What kind of person do you want to be remembered as?
- How would you like your story told to your great-grandchildren? What would you like to pass on?
- Is there any advice about life you’d like to give your grandchildren?
- What’s something you’ve never said to me, but really want to?
- What have you always wanted to ask me, but never did?
- From today, let’s be two old friends. What’s the first thing you want us to do together, as friends?
How to ask (so your parent actually answers)
Ask in their language. If your parent’s first language isn’t English, ask in theirs. Memories live in the language they happened in. I’ll be asking my mother in Korean, casually, the way I’d talk to a friend.
Follow up with “And then?” The first answer is usually short. The second is where the story is. “What did it smell like?” “Who else was there?” “What did you say?”
Don’t correct them. If Mum’s version of a family story is different from yours, that is not a mistake to fix. It’s a second story.
Record it, with permission. A voice memo on your phone is enough. One day, their voice will matter more than the words. I’ll show you how to do this well in next week’s guide, How to Interview a Grandparent.
Skip anything that hurts too much. Some questions, like 39 or 46, aren’t right for every family or every week. You can come back to them. You can also never ask them. That’s allowed.
I already know one I’ll have to rearrange. Question 16, how my parents met, is a story I’ve heard a hundred times. Mum will say, “You know that one already,” and try to skip it. So I’ll ask instead, “Fine. Then tell me about your first kiss with Dad.” Knowing her, she’ll want to skip that one even faster.
Start with one question this week
You don’t need all 52 to begin. You need one, and a phone call.
If you’d like to start tonight, I’ve made 10 of these questions into free printable cards. Print them at home, put one on the kitchen table, and see what happens. Get the 10 free Two Old Friends cards →
The full set of 52 cards, in three designs, is coming before Christmas. Join the waitlist here.
I waited too long with my father. I’m not going to wait with my mother. I hope you won’t wait either.
With love, Esther