What was the house you grew up in like?
I think about that now, walking up to our porch with you on my shoulder. The maple isn’t there. The cracked driveway isn’t there. But the small thing — wanting someone to know you’re back — that part traveled.
What did your father never tell you?
Each child gets their own book. You record one prompt at a time, in your voice. Eight chapters. Seventy-two prompts. The keepsake your parents never wrote, written by you.
Parents mean to write things down. They never do. By the time they would have, the moments are gone.
Your kids forget the years before five. The bedtime stories. The way you carried them. The version of you that loved them when they were still small enough to disappear in a towel.
Your parents' voices are an answering machine away from gone. Whatever your father didn't write down, you'll never read.
The version of you that's reading this — write to them while it's still you.
Each session opens with one prompt addressed to your child by name. The earliest house. The day they were born. The lesson you’d hand them now.
Voice is the default. Tap the mic and tell it like you’re at the kitchen table. The transcript is yours to keep — verbatim, or cleaned up with your voice intact.
Each prompt fills in one of eight chapters. No streaks. No homework. The book grows when you do.
What was the house you grew up in like?
Sample excerpt. Your words. Your voice. Your kid’s name.
“What was the house you grew up in like? What did it smell like?”
“Describe the version of yourself at 18. What would that person think of your life now?”
“How did you meet your child’s other parent? What was your first impression?”
“What were you most afraid of in the weeks before they were born?”
“What’s a tiny moment — not a milestone, just a moment — that you never want to forget?”
“What’s the most important thing life has taught you?”
“A letter for when life gets really hard.”
“What kind of person do you hope they become? Not career — character.”
0 prompts per book. Each one personalized to your relationship — dad, mom, grandparent, aunt, uncle.
The prompts adapt. A grandmother answering “What was their dad like as a kid?” is a different question than a father answering it.
Each book takes your child’s actual name.
Your book as a beautifully typeset PDF. Yours to download, share, archive.
Premium hardcover binding. Archival paper. QR codes to the voice recordings. Built to last generations.
And one day, their kid will pick it up.
It costs nothing to begin. The first prompt is waiting.
Start the book