I Interviewed My Parents Like Strangers—And Discovered Who They Really Are

Every great interview begins with a question. Mine began with a dare.

A writing coach once told me: "If you want to become a better storyteller, interview someone you think you already know. Treat them like a stranger. Ask questions like you've never met."

I laughed it off at first. What could I possibly learn from my parents that I didn’t already know? I grew up with them. I knew their stories—or so I thought. But that curiosity lingered. So one evening, armed with a notebook and a voice recorder, I sat down across from my parents at the kitchen table and said:

"I’m going to interview you both. Like I don’t know you. No interruptions. No assumptions. Just talk."

They laughed, thinking it was a cute writing exercise. But within minutes, something shifted. This wasn't small talk. This was real. And what unfolded over the next two hours changed the way I saw them forever.

The Rules Were Simple. The Impact Was Not.

I set a few basic ground rules:

1. Answer like you're talking to someone who doesn't know you.

2. Take your time.

3. Be honest.

I started with questions I found on journalism prep lists:

"What was your biggest fear when you were 20?"

"What did you want to be before you became what you are now?"

"When did you last feel completely lost?"

I asked my dad what his childhood smelled like. He paused for almost a minute before saying, "Charcoal. My dad used to grill even in winter. We'd smell it in our coats for days."

I asked my mom what she thought her life would look like at 40. She replied, "Not like this. I thought I'd be a dancer in New York. I never told anyone that."

She laughed, then looked away, suddenly shy.

The Stories They Never Shared

I grew up believing my parents were solid, settled people who had figured life out early. But their answers revealed a maze of unspoken heartbreak, dreams deferred, and quiet resilience.

My father admitted he never wanted to be in sales. "I wanted to be a teacher. But I was scared we wouldn’t have enough money. So I chased money instead."

My mother confessed she almost didn’t marry him. "I loved him, but I was terrified. Of settling. Of never knowing what else was out there."

It felt like interviewing ghosts of their past selves. Raw, unfinished versions of the people I thought I knew.

I asked, "What’s something you’ve never said out loud before?"

My mom said, "I sometimes think I would’ve been happier alone. Not because I don’t love your dad, but because I never learned who I was without someone else."

My dad added, "I always wanted a second child. But I knew your mom didn’t. So I never brought it up."

I had to pause the recorder.

Unfiltered Wisdom You Won’t Find in Parenting Books

Despite the tears, the conversation bloomed into something almost sacred. They were no longer "Mom and Dad." They were complex human beings with layered histories and wounds they never let me see.

I asked, "What advice would you give your 25-year-old self?"

My father: "Take the risk. Don't marry safety."

My mother: "Let yourself be selfish for a while."

I asked, "What do you regret the most?"

My mother said, "Not traveling. Not writing more. Not saying yes to things that scared me."

My father: "Not listening more. Especially to you."

That one hit hard.

Toward the end, I asked, "When did you feel proud of me but didn’t say it?"

My mom said, "When you stood up to that teacher in 10th grade. I was too afraid to confront authority, but you weren’t. I bragged about it to everyone."

My dad, usually stoic, whispered, "When you wrote that article last year about burnout. I read it three times. I cried each time."

I don’t think I’d ever seen him cry before.

Why You Should Do This, Too

Interviewing my parents like strangers stripped away the parent-child dynamic we’d been stuck in for decades. It made space for honesty. For history. For connection.

If you're reading this and still have your parents around, here’s my suggestion:

Sit down. Ask the hard questions. Not the surface ones. Not the "How was your day?" kinds. The kinds that get to the marrow:

"What do you wish I knew about you but never asked?"

"When were you the most scared?"

"What moment in your life do you replay in your head the most?"

You’ll be amazed at what pours out.

Not Just a Conversation, But a Healing

That night changed everything. We didn’t "solve" anything. But for the first time, I felt like we were speaking human to human. They weren’t my flawed, frustrating parents anymore. They were beautifully complicated individuals who shaped me, and were still figuring themselves out.

I realized how much of them I carry—their fears, their regrets, their hidden talents. And I left that table not just knowing them better, but knowing myself better.

Final Thoughts: The Interview That Became a Legacy

The recording now lives in my cloud storage, backed up three times. It’s one of the most valuable things I own.

We always say, "I wish I had asked them more while they were still here." Don't wait for loss to spark curiosity. Ask now. While you still can.

Treat them like strangers. Interview them like legends. And listen like it matters—because it does.