When my 12-year-old started asking questions about my high school years, I figured he was just a little bit curious and a whole lot bored.

When he followed up with questions about my father's reactions to some of my teenage antics, I thought perhaps he was going to try to impress me with some stories of his own.

It wasn't until he started asking very specific questions about our much-missed Sharpei Bingo that I got suspicious.

"Who have you been talking to?" I asked, narrowing my eyes at him, knowing my pretend paranoia would broaden his smug little grin.

He wasn't going to tell and only gave away his source by accident when he asked a question about home renovations.

That's when I realized he'd been reading a book of columns my dad wrote more than a decade ago: "Bingo Tales and Other Dogma."

To my son, the columns were a treasure trove. It's one thing to think that your family is less than perfect. It's quite another to discover written proof of this, BOUND INTO A BOOK! He must have been practically beside himself judging by the way he was still beaming the next morning. Who knew a kid could be pleased that dorkishness runs in his gene pool?

The experience cemented for me that once I destroy all the things I never want my children to see, I really need to get to work on the family history I'd like to put together for them, if only to compensate for neglecting their baby books. I always feel guilty that the last time my poor 5-year-old's baby book was updated was roughly five years ago, but never guilty enough to actually do anything about it.

It's not that the information doesn't exist. I have hundreds of written anecdotes and thousands of photos, but they're unfortunately mixed in with decades of academic and professional writing, as well as photos that predate the kids. However, it would only take some time and selective editing to give my future grandchildren material to taunt their parents with for years.

Seeing my son's delight in just a few silly stories made me realize that it's not just a matter of recording history, it's a way to let my children feel part of things even if they took place before they were born.

My daughter's current fascination with "Fiddler on the Roof" only drives home the point. Listening to my 5-year-old singing "Sunrise, Sunset" can't help but make me realize how quickly time flies, and that musical in particular always makes me sorry that sometimes it passes too quickly. I'll never be able to learn much about how my Bubbie left Russia in the early 1900s because of the pogroms that also forced Reb. Tevya and his family out of Anatevka. That part of our history might be lost, but that doesn't mean there aren't stories to tell about Bubbie and tradition.

If my son can glean such pleasure from a few personal columns in my father's book, I should feed his appetite as long as he's still interested.

Reach Treena Shapiro at tshapiro@honoluluadvertiser.com. Read her daily blog at blogs.honoluluadvertiser.com.