Shortly before she passed away, my grandmother Charing Gorospe told me her war story. She was trying to raise six children, ages 10 to 1, including my nine-year-old mother, while the Japanese army was terrorizing the countryside. Her husband, my grandfather, was then the wartime mayor of a small town in Ilocos Sur, which meant the Japanese had to rely on him to govern the town while harboring suspicions that he was helping the Filipino guerrillas. 

At the tail end of the war, the Japanese were hunting my grandfather, who was indeed channeling supplies to the guerrillas. 

To protect his young family, my lolo loaded his wife and six children on a small boat where they hid while drifting a distance off shore, my lola leading them in prayers and fortitude. They would all survive, the family eventually growing to 11 children. 

I learned about this war story by accident. In the early 1990s, as a young reporter, I had bought one of the first handy cams, video cameras that could fit neatly in your palm, and needed to practice how to use it. My lola was a willing subject, so I sat her down, asked her a series of questions about her life, and proceeded to create an accidental family heirloom. I never thought of my grandmother in the same way again. She was no longer simply the frail octogenarian who puttered around the house exclaiming in Ilocano. I could now imagine her as the brave wartime mother who kept her six small children alive while her husband fought foreign invaders. 

That’s when I realized that recording people talking on camera about their memories and lives was a good way to have a career. I reckon over the next 30 years, I’ve interviewed over a thousand people about their lives. 

I share the story about my lola with students all the time. Unlike when I started shooting in the analog age, everyone now has a video camera on their phones. Teachers routinely assign video projects and their students sometimes message me privately to ask for suggestions for  topics. I tell them to look no farther than the oldest persons in their families, even their parents, who will usually appreciate being asked about their memories. One of the greatest things that a parent can leave their kids is the stories of their lives. But they often won’t share unless they’re asked and the kids show interest. 

So I tell the kids, interviewing the elders in your families can achieve many things, among them deepening your relationships and honing your skills in video documentation, in addition to producing family treasures that will outlive everyone. 

Often it’s enough to ask, “what was your childhood like?” But it can also lead to more probing questions like, “what else would you like to learn in your life?” “if you were to trade places with any member of the family who would it be?” and even, “when do you feel most loved?” 

In recent master classes organized by GMA Network, where colleagues from different disciplines share their knowledge with students and teachers, I talk about that realization with my lola, and the possible impact of serious conversations with their elders. 

These days, as I tell my young audiences, these meaningful interactions with family members can have larger implications beyond themselves. 

You’re all savvy digital natives, I tell them, so most of you know better than to spread fake news. The problem is usually the others in your families and households, the ones who aren’t as savvy, and can be fooled and manipulated. 

Telling them bluntly that they’re wrong can get you nowhere but an argument or even a scolding. 

So why not start with that recorded interview about their lives? After you listen to them attentively, they may listen to you. And even if you end up agreeing to disagree, you’ve still deepened your bond, perhaps even your mutual respect, and created a family heirloom.