I was watching First Knight the other day, doing research on my family history…
What’s that? Oh yeah, I found out recently that I am related to King Arthur… no big deal….
Actually I’m related to a bunch of welsh kings who used to say they were related to King Arthur and also Joseph of Aramithea… because ya know, he went to Britian after Christ died on the cross and started selling tin… ahem. Hey, its what they say.
I don’t take these things too seriously when researching family history stuff especially after 200 years or so. If there’s no documentation, its just speculations. In fact, I’m thinking of creating a document indicating that I was president of the world, with photoshopped pictures and everything. That way 2000 years from now people will think its true…
Anyway, my brother and I have become, only because we are the only ones interested, the family historians. Ancestry.com helps with that. Our focus is mainly on the last 3 to 400 years. I am related to Rob Roy McGregor though. That’s almost a fact.
In doing this research though over the past 10 to 15 years, I’ve learned a lot about where I came from. You can look at names and dates. Census records that tell you where someone lived, maybe what they did for a living, but you can’t know what they thought when they woke up in the morning. You don’t know what dreams they had in say the 1840 census when they were living in Wood Texas and what dreams may have fallen by the way-side by the 1930 census living in Dawson County Texas.
A few have left records. One of my great great great grandmothers used to write notes about walking in the fields and singing prayers about her family and the generations to come.
I don’t know that any of the generations that come after me will see this. I’ll forget to pass on its existence before I die, if it even exists then. There was a time when I thought there would not be any generations of mine, so I wanted to leave a record so that if nothing else, I would be the crazy old uncle who lived alone and died alone, but with hours of stupid pictures and writings to look at.
Now, I have genes percolating in the belly of my wife and the possibility of little me’s for generations to come.
I still don’t want to be just a name on a piece of paper that tells when I was born and when I died. I want to fill in the blanks the way I wish my ancestors had filled in theirs.
It may not seem significant. Maybe its not. Maybe I’m suffering from some middle-child syndrome of wanting to be noticed and remembered.
Anyway, I had some time to kill this morning before heading out and it gave me a chance to let my thoughts wander. You’re welcome. All 3 of you.