As I stood in my father’s house over Thanksgiving break, I took the chance to glance over the framed images that decorate the walls. I gazed through the photo albums and listened intently to stories of old taken straight from experience.

Now, I have always been aware of my family’s history and my part in it. But for the first time, I realized its true importance in my life, and how I like everyone else am a product of a collective and personal history.

When history is mentioned, the first thing that springs to most people’s minds are the names, dates and significant events that are taught in classes all over the world. Well, this application is too simple. History is more than that. History is tears and pain, laughter and joy. It is what shapes our society, and it is what shapes us.

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History can be broken down in two ways:social and personal. Social history is what is taught in schools. It is what we see on the news it’s all those things that students seem to hate learning. What those I don’t care about what happened back then people fail to realize is that what happened back then has dictated what is happening now. What happened in the 60s led to events in the 70s, spawning the 80s, which rolled right into the 90s, and so on and so forth.

Another unrecognized facet of social history is that when we turn on the TV or read a paper, what we observe is a direct reflection of who we are as individuals and who we are as a society. People don’t seem to like that fact. No one wants to think that they personally have a part in how society is. Most would rather point fingers and sling words of blame than claim the responsibility that we all have a role to play.

The second type of history is personal history. This is what is taught to us at home. Just how society as a whole is a reflection of us all, we as individuals are reflections of our family.

I don’t know about you, but I’m not afraid to admit that I’m not too proud about my family’s history. It’s dark and in some parts tragic. Although my family contains some of the greatest people that I will ever know, those people were parts of lives and stories that I obviously had to act in. I don’t care for my unborn children to continue those stories. I have learned some great things from my parents, but I have also learned many things that will go no farther than me. What is important about all this is that I became aware that I was a product of my family and my society’s history, and if I wasn’t careful I would unconsciously pass that on to my children.

When I look at the world around me, I see a world that is full of people who hate they hate themselves, and they hate others. I see blinding violence. I see a lack of compassion. I see a world full of self-centered, egotistical individuals who only want to honor themselves and the almighty dollar.

You know what, though? I’m not surprised. These states of mind is this world’s sick gift to us through history. Because of a lack of interest, these things plus countless others have been allowed to develop and become ingrained in our brains. And now we shall reap what we sowed.

Take a look at yourselves and then take a look at the world. Do you like what you see? Then ask yourself whether or not you want your children to endure what we have had to endure. There are billions of stories in the world, and I don’t think any of them are pretty.

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Well, it’s time to make them beautiful. Namest.