I've always made it a habit to start our family meals with simple stories. As my children grew older, I realized that the stories told at the dinner table became increasingly important, like the first "ecosystem" that nurtured and preserved our mother tongue.
A multi-generational meal
Exactly 10 years ago, when I first moved to the old city of Tam Ky, I was quite surprised to see my neighbors regularly maintaining a multi-generational family meal. Despite their busy schedules, the family members still tried to arrange time to sit together around the table every day. That warm atmosphere created a strong bond between family members, something that not every family in modern life still manages to preserve.
My neighbor, Mr. Pham Nguyen Hong Chau, said that his family has maintained this "multi-generational meal" tradition for over 20 years. "Each person has a story to tell, and we share them like friends so that our children understand that family stories also contribute to purifying our mother tongue," Mr. Chau shared.
Not only during daily meals, but also in the days leading up to the Lunar New Year, Mr. Chau's family maintains many traditional customs.
The whole family cleans up together, sets up the Tet decorations with familiar motifs, hangs couplets, and rearranges the common living space. In particular, making banh tet (traditional Vietnamese rice cakes) is considered a "family gathering." From preparing the dong leaves and banana leaves, soaking the sticky rice, to lighting the fire and tending the flames all night... everyone gathers together, working and chatting at the same time.
In that space, stories of Tet (Vietnamese New Year) from the past are retold, linked to family memories as a way to reminisce about the past filled with nostalgia. "The children love listening to their grandparents tell stories of the old days, about making cakes over a wood-fired stove. I think it's during these moments that the Vietnamese language comes to the children most naturally, without any coercion," Mr. Chau said.
Mr. Chau's story reminded me of my family more than 30 years ago. Back then, my father was still healthy. He was a soldier who fought in the western battlefields of Quang Nam province. After his discharge, despite the hardships of life, he still highly valued family meals. As a Co Tu person, my father encouraged his children to communicate in their mother tongue. Some meals consisted of just a few potatoes or cassava roots, but they were always filled with lively conversation. He told stories of his life as a soldier, of the mountains and forests, of his village…
Later, when some of my siblings started their own families, the family meals didn't happen as often as before, but they were still maintained on occasions when we reunited. Since then, unless there are unavoidable circumstances, my family still tries to gather together, especially as my mother gets older, seeing it as a way to preserve memories and nurture family bonds.
When you put the phone down
Once, while visiting my hometown, I wandered along the familiar village lanes. I unexpectedly ran into an old friend. Before I could even chat much, I saw him struggling to coax his young child, who was about to start eating solid food. He tried to soothe and plead with the child, but the baby kept shaking its head and turning away. The meal became tense as a result.
Finally, he pulled a smartphone from his pocket and opened an animated program. A familiar melody played, and the child's eyes immediately glued to the screen, their mouth opening reflexively. The meal continued, faster, more concise, but also quieter. That moment made me pause. Because it wasn't an uncommon choice, but watching the child eat in silence, I suddenly felt a sense of something very familiar missing.
I remember the meals of the past. Back then, we ate slowly, listening to the adults tell stories. Sometimes it was just a small story about my mother's trip to the fields, the stream at the edge of the village, or a long-lost acquaintance visiting. These simple stories weren't meant to teach anything profound, but they instilled in the children's minds a feeling of being listened to, of being present in family life.
These days, the image of a phone "intruding" into mealtimes is no longer uncommon. In the city or in the countryside, in restaurants or even in the family kitchen, it's not difficult to find meals where everyone is glued to a screen. Children eat faster, adults have more free time, but conversation gradually disappears. In those moments, the Vietnamese language also shrinks, falling into sad silences.
I wonder, what will remain in the innocent memories of children who grew up with phones, televisions, and computers? Will they still remember the voices of adults, the stories told slowly, with a beginning and an end, filled with emotion? Or will the memory of family meals be reduced to just a streak of blue light from a colorful screen?
That memory takes me back to the simple family meals of the past. We lacked things, often only materially, but we had plenty of stories to listen to, tell, and share with each other in our mother tongue.
Before becoming a language in books or media, Vietnamese (as well as the mother tongue of each ethnic group in the mountainous regions) was once the language spoken at the family dinner table. This was the first "ecosystem" formed, nurturing the language and emotions of children from their earliest years.
Source: https://baodanang.vn/ngon-ngu-giau-hon-tu-bua-com-gia-dinh-3320534.html
![[Photo] Coc Ly market bustling on the eve of Tet](https://vphoto.vietnam.vn/thumb/402x226/vietnam/resource/IMAGE/2026/02/14/1771062261424_baolaocai-br_img-6457-jpg.webp)
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