Dad was a quiet man, and sometimes hard, though never unfair. He was enmeshed in, and subject to, a very harsh world. His mum died giving birth to his younger brother, and his father withdrew him from Scotch College at 15 years of age to work on a farm in 1930, the Great Depression. Dad reported he had no refrigeration, only a cool safe, and had to flick the maggots off his meat before he ate it, reluctantly taking whatever protein was available. He flew in World War II for three  years and, unlike his best friend, survived to begin a new life back home.

Dad gave a short speech at my 21st . He recounted how he went in to town for his 21st  in a horse and buggy. Of course there were cars around in those days, but that was for rich people. He had a tractor to do farm work but you cannot drive a cumbersome tractor a long distance to town. He described how remarkably life had changed from when he was 21 to when I was 21. Mankind had landed on the moon, successfully transplanted a man's heart, and now pretty much everyone had a fridge. He was amazed and excited at the changes he had seen in 40 years, and asked the question of what life would be like when I gave a speech at my son's 21st.

Did Dad have a special hunch? At this stage I was not married, but as good fortune would have it, Rosemary and I were blessed with three children, two girls, then a boy. At Andrew's 21st I echoed dad's theme, and listed some of the ways modern life had changed since I was his age. The list is impressive: computers, mobile phones, the internet, self-serve fruit shops, air bags, ABS, and so it goes on. Life today is hardly recognisable from life back then. When we relate how our glass bottles of milk were daily delivered by horse and cart, with one whistle from the milko to start the familiar clip clop and a slightly different one to stop it, Gen Y says "Surely not!"

I am not sure the important things ever change. Being kind, considerate, thoughtful, generous, knowing how to make a sacrifice, listening, exercising noble virtues of honesty and integrity, these things have always been important and always will be. It is a question of looking beyond the mere passing parade of technology and into the heart of the enduring values, the good oils that lubricate all personal relationships.

Dad and Mum, and Rosemary's faith-inspired parents, modelled these virtues and many others. They gave us a great deal, not stuff of the physical kind, but jewels of the personal kind. They transmitted good values by a sort of infectious osmosis, values that were caught, not just taught. And even when they did give us "stuff", it was often created, not bought with dollars. For Mum, it might have been knitting a jumper to personal specifications, or cooking a new meal, or making a shirt. Created gifts come not just from the heart and the imagination, and are therefore unique, but involve giving part of oneself. It is not so much the "thing" that matters as the thoughtfulness and the investment of love. A created gift is love exemplified. They knew how to love.

They also gave us a triad for healthy living. Firstly, a sense of value or dignity. Not the overinflated sense of importance or entitlement that can characterise some of the "me" generation, but a sense that we are all important and significant, that what we say and do matters, that all persons are precious and have intrinsic value. Secondly, a sense of meaning. Our lives must have a sense of direction, or purpose, be goal-directed in good ways, or, as the ancient prophet said, "Without a vision, the people perish". We need to be more than just travelling, but going somewhere as well as knowing  why. Thirdly, a sense of belonging. It is important for us all the belong to, and be valued by, groups bigger than ourselves, for example, a family, a community, a church, a sporting club, a school or workplace. We all need a home and not just a house; that home may  be more than the family of origin, but we need to be accountable to, and contribute to groups beyond our own little nest. A sense of belonging inoculates against the epidemic of our time: loneliness, a loss of connection. Thank you Mum and Dad for these fine gifts.

As a teacher I tried to give a love of learning for its own sake. Easier said than done. There is enormous societal pressure to learn for some gain, to get into this course or that, to earn a higher income, to rise above others in status or power. For me, one of the greatest gifts we can give youngsters is the love of learning in and of itself. When we impart that special gift, we open up possibilities for lifelong adventure. Each day will bring delight as each day must bring new and interesting things. The love of learning brings freshness and growth each day, and is about the process of a joyful journey, not just the mere product or outcome. Lovers of learning learn more than mere educational mercenaries. Our dictionary is falling apart because it has been removed from the bookshelf and opened so many times. This is as it should be.

Some schools don't teach a love of learning, believe it or not. But every parent can, by taking an interest from an early age, by asking open questions, by listening, by modeling an attitude of inquiry, by giving time, by being a genuine seeker, by pursuing understanding and not just facts.

You can give your child a game, and do so by all means, but I am inclined to think it is better to impart a sense of play. I would not overestimate the power of schools to influence. If we give a love of learning, or of play, we give two precious and powerful gifts.

We are saturated by a world preoccupied with things and stuff. But kids don't care if there is a stain on the carpet, or a dent in the panel work. They want, and need love, expressed in many ways; unconditional acceptance and forgiveness, despite their shortcomings. We can invest in antiques, or shares, or property or image or whatever. But there are other forms of investment, in character, in relationships, and in what does not change.

What can any parent give their child? Lots of good things. Funnily enough, when we give, life has a way of giving back, in full measure, pressed down and running over.

Brian Steer is a Melbourne writer