The first time my future-partner, Frank and I had dinner with his kids (then aged 8 & 4), I was jittery and nervous. I’d not spent much time with them as a family. I loved this man with my whole self and I wanted it to be easy-breezy and smooth.

We served up the plates in the kitchen and as I approached the table, the three of them started eating as soon as their butts hit the chairs.

“Hold on!” I said. All three of them looked up at me with forks suspended in front of their mouths. “Let’s say grace first.”

They looked at me again.

“Let’s wait for each other, just pause and give thanks before we eat,” I said, realizing immediately that I’d already blown the whole easy-breezy thing.

“This is the grace my family has said for three generations,” I said, soldiering on. “To the Giver of all good things, we lift up our hearts with praise and thanksgiving. Amen.”

We still say it together before every meal. Now it’s four generations.