Brittany, my granddaughter, age three, runs ahead of me almost out of sight. (A walk after supper is our daily ritual whenever we are together.) I watch to see how far she will go. At the corner, she checks to make sure that I am still watching, giggles and disappears.

I step into a doorway and disappear, myself. Soon, I hear her anxious footsteps returning, making little runs and pauses while she looks for me. She reaches my doorway. "Boo!" I say. She collapses into relieved laughter.

That's attachment: I am the secure centre from which she goes exploring, the comfort she returns to after she takes risks. She trusts that I will not abandon her.

She runs off again, acting goofy, feet flying out in all directions. She trips and falls. Tiny bits of gravel attach themselves to her palms and knee caps. She cries.

I see that she is basically OK, and restrain myself from hurrying to rescue and console her. She cries a bit, sniffs, picks off the gravel, and comes back to me.

"I falled down," she says.

"Yes," I reply. "But you're OK, aren't you? It hurt, but you were brave." These are the beginnings of self-reliance. In the midst of this little episode, I cut to the memory of Kate, my oldest daughter, presenting me with her US Air Force parachute-jump wings.

"You take them," she said. "I proved I can do it, Pop, but I don't have to be that scared all the time." That's attachment: bravery, self-reliance and self-direction emerge out of security, out of the certainty that you are loved.

"You never came to any of my soccer games!" an angry teenager berates her workaholic father. Trivial complaint? Not at all. On the contrary, it is a symbolically significant lament. She bewails the absence of what is essential to us all: an attachment to somebody who can say: "Go, try out your life. I am here for you to come back to, to share your triumphs when you succeed and help bind up your wounds when you fail."

Without attachment there is emptiness inside, loneliness, fear and insecurity. There is no self-reliance, because there is no self to rely on, only self-pity.

Without attachment, a child can have no trust for authority, no empathy for others, no conscience - only resentment, jealousy and anger.

Without attachment, reward and punishment are meaningless. They build no character. They just produce temporary compliance.

Without attachment, a child has no spiritual immune system. Evil creeps in. Detached children grow to be detached adults, self-centred, mean and callous.

Attached children can survive trauma and abuse, but detached children who suffer such abuse become abusers in their turn, passing on the trauma.

And nothing much fixes it: detention, treatment and rehabilitation just put band aids on empty hearts. Take it from me. I once directed a residential treatment centre.

Throughout the world, our priorities are wrong. We agonise over teenagers, when we should be paying attention to the little ones. By age five the twigs are bent. The shapes of the young trees follow.

What can we do? Day care can't cure the problem. Even the best day care cannot provide attachment. It can only be a supplement. Attachment is one to one.

The good news is, it doesn't really matter who provides the attachment, as long as they are of good heart. If mom and dad are not available, grandmas, grandpas, aunts, uncles, cousins, even neighbours can provide it.

Attachment is deeper than love, because love can be selfish and unpredictable. Attachment is unwavering, dependable and selfless.

Attachment is stronger than poverty, because everywhere we find people who are constant and caring, even though they may be poor.

Attachment is irrelevant to wedlock. You don't have to be married to be attached to your kid.

Attachment is a personal commitment. Attachment is for life.

Take care of the pennies and the dollars will take care of themselves, the saying goes. If we attach to the little ones, the youth will turn out fine.

This is the week of the family. May it symbolise lifetimes of attachment for us all.

Dr. Wells Hively is Clinical Supervisor for the Family Learning Centre.