The first thing that parenthood teaches you is selflessness. Nothing comes before the needs of a newborn. But as my babies learn to walk and eat on their own, as toddlers playfully grow into boys who spend most of their day at school, I begin to journey back into my own early memories.

My childhood is so very distant in time and place: Guatemala, in the 1970s, torn apart by civil war. Growing up, I studied martial arts for self-defense and I learnt how to shoot all kinds of guns, perfecting my marksmanship on weekends.

I was good at holding my liquor long before I was out of my teens.

Books, bicycles and cameras were my favorite companions.

I was a Jew in a majority Catholic country.

***

Luca and Olin were born in New York and are being raised in Korea.

Most days, I feel like a hopeless outsider here; I wonder how I can even begin to guide my kids in a cultural landscape so different than my own.

How deeply can parents really penetrate the inner workings of their children’s selves?

Can they truly grasp the trials and tribulations of their young hearts, their hopes and fears?

***

It’s a beautiful spring evening, perfect for a slow walk home. But my mind is troubled, restless and uneasy as I make my way there.

What can the long-ago Guatemalan boy say to the twin boys about growing up? Will his experiences feel relevant, hold value and make sense to them?

What will happen when Olin and Luca reach that point of no-return, the digital divide, and encounter the endless stream of the world through a screen?

What will AI whisper in their ears? How far away will they drift from us?

How long can us, their parents - who grew up with rotary phones - possibly hold that day off?

***

It seems like today I have no answers, only questions.

But the dimming light over the mountains has finally had a calming effect; the crisp, country air is bracing too.