As I’ve grown into my new role as ‘Nana’ to two rascally boys, I’ve been reminded of just how my grandparents shaped who I am today.

We have a short video of my Nana and Poppa at the dinner table on Christmas Day. They were well into their 80s then (they both lived to see 93), and it was my son’s very first Christmas.

Just hearing them laugh as their great grandson gnawed earnestly on a chicken drumstick – with little reward – is a memory we will treasure forever (thankfully now it’s transferred from VHS to memory stick!).

What I’d give to hear them talk about their lives again – raising six children through a depression and a world war, driving school buses, their love of sport and community. What made them happy? What tested their relationship? The hardships they endured; their proudest moments. What it meant to celebrate 70 years of marriage together. I wish I could have gathered all those memories in a Reflections interview.

Those moments aren’t just nostalgia. They’re reminders of how grandparents shape us in ways we often don’t recognise until we see the same traits echoed in the next generations. Lying in their bed on a Sunday morning, listening to Nana tell us wonderful stories of her early years (which spurred my passion for storytelling); Poppa always singing as he worked in his plentiful garden. They may not have been business moguls or sporting legends, but their values, humour, resilience, and love became part of my own blueprint.

Knowing where we come from doesn’t just tell us about our bloodlines; it tells us about how we navigate the world. When I watch my grandchildren playing, I see glimpses of my grandmother’s patience and grandfather’s curiosity. It reminds me that identity is inherited as much as it’s discovered.

For many, especially in Aotearoa, whakapapa is at the heart of our identity. To know your whakapapa — your genealogical line — is to know your place in the world, your connection to people and land. Grandparents often act as guardians of that whakapapa, passing down names, places, traditions, and values.

They are living bridges to our past. They carry family stories, traditions, and lessons to pass on to future generations.

It’s not just the big moments either. It’s the quiet rituals — playing cards on rainy afternoons, or car rides into town where Poppa’s hair-raising U-turns in the main street became part of our family lore. Those tiny, repeated gestures build a sense of belonging that lasts a lifetime. They shape how we understand love, responsibility, community (and safe driving habits too).

Becoming a grandparent has made me more conscious of the lineage I’m now part of passing on, and how I influence the next generation. It’s a humbling, joyful responsibility. And it underscores the idea that our identity isn’t just who we are now — it’s the echo of every hand that’s guided us, every story that’s intrigued us, and every laugh shared around a Christmas dinner table.

One of the questions we often ask in our Reflections interviews is: ‘How would you like your grandchildren, and great-grandchildren, to remember you?’

Their answers are almost always filled with emotion - a chance to reflect on the legacy they’ve built within their families, and the inspiration they hope will be carried forward.

One of my favourite responses: “As long as they remember me, I have no issues.”