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Friday, December 11, 2015

The Year was 1976...

(Originally Published 3 Oct 2014)

Our country celebrated its bicentennial, I graduated from high school, and Alex Haley published his novel “ROOTS: The Saga of an American Family”.  

Roots managed to accomplish things that few books had.  It not only created a political, social, racial and cultural dialogue, but it put the spotlight on genealogy, tracing your family tree.  Though the novel has been proven to be genealogically inaccurate, it was still the catalyst for the surge in ‘ancestor curiosity’, wondering who the ‘roots’ of your family tree were.  It was why one of my assignments in a college honors class the following year was to write a three-generation family history paper.  That assignment was the beginning of my obsession (er, passion) for genealogical research.

Genealogical research is like writing your own multi-genre novel, on a very personal level.  Take my family tree for example.  I have several kin who served in the military.  I can write chapters on men who were Civil War deserters and fought against members of my husband’s family in the same battles.  I can also write about the same deserter who started another family in northern state without letting his family in the southern states know he was still alive and well.

I have pictures of my grandmother, mother and all of my aunts, each wearing the same fringe dress that my uncle had brought home from his WWII service in the South Pacific.  It brings them to life for me again, seeing them act silly and carefree.

I remember the lump in my throat when my son came home from the Vietnam Memorial on his eighth grade trip with a picture of my cousin’s name etched on that marble slab.  A true American hero, Boge gave his life to save the lives of the men in his platoon.  They even named a tank park after him at Fort Knox.

I can write chapters on ancestors who have left their homes in foreign countries and traveled to the ‘land of opportunity’, only to disappear once the ship left the home harbor.  I can write stories about their families who did make it to America but struggled to stay alive when the dreams of ‘streets lined with gold’ didn’t come true.

I sympathize with the immigrant mother of three whose brave husband joined the ranks of the Union soldiers to fight against the Confederate hoard shortly after arriving in New York from Germany.  When he was killed in the line of duty, she was left doing laundry to put a roof over their heads and food in their mouth.

I can retell the tales of the 1937 Ohio River Flood as it decimated my hometown in Southeastern Indiana.  I can write a chapter on how my mother’s family was separated from each other and sent to live in various camps and with various families until the water subsided and they could start rebuilding their lives.  I can relate the fact that my mother could not eat rice to the day she passed because that is about all she had when she was living in the refugee camp in Indianapolis waiting to come home.

I can write stories about the little things in life that made our ancestors unique.  For example, according to the census, my grandfather was the only one on his street that had a radio in the house.  I can see their home being a community gathering place.  I can visualize the kids playing outside  while the 'grownups' sit around the radio listening to the latest in music and news.

To me, genealogy is not just names, places and dates.  It is unraveling the pieces to the puzzle of who I am.  It is the telling of the stories, the histories, of the kin that came before us.  It is our responsibility to make sure their struggles and their victories are not forgotten.  It is our right to know who and what our roots are.  Genealogy is researching and writing the great novel of ‘Ourstory’ which ties in with ‘History’ quite well.

Thank you, Alex, for bringing to light the importance of our ancestors.

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