It has never been easier to trace our ancestors and our family tree. With computers and DNA and dozens of businesses who will trace your family tree for you, what used to take years of research at libraries and cemeteries and court houses to search for records, can now be done in a matter of days or weeks.
We all wonder where we came from, what did our ancestors contribute to make us who we are? Did we inherit our appearance, our talents, our quirks from someone who lived hundreds of years ago? Can talent be inherited the same as the color of our eyes or the shape of our nose? Can we blame our crooked teeth on some long lost ancestor or can we thank our great grandmother for our sense of humor?
Where do we come from? Most people want to trace their ancestors back to royalty, they want to be descended from Kings or Queens or someone great and famous. I’ve never heard anyone brag about being descended from a beggar or a thief or a grave digger or a rat catcher from the Middle Ages.
Two people who could possibly be my ancestors aren’t much to brag about. About 1890 there was a woman named Minnie who had a violent temper and who got so angry during a family dinner she started screaming and screamed until she dropped dead. It is possible she had a heart attack or something but she is remembered only as the woman who screamed herself to death. Another ancestor around that same time was named Rio. Rio robbed a bank but didn’t believe paper money was worth anything and demanded the bank teller fill his bag with silver dollars and twenty dollar gold pieces. When the bag was full it was so heavy he couldn’t lift it and had to drag it. He was still dragging it when he was less than a block away from the bank and was arrested by the sheriff. I’m not even sure I’m related to either of them and I sort of hope I’m not.
We all want to believe our ancestors were important, powerful and memorable.
I don’t know who my ancestors were. I came from a broken limb on our family tree. My mother never knew who her real father was and I never knew who my real father was. As a child I would approach any strange man on the street and ask “Are you my Daddy?” which I’m sure caused a great deal of discomfort and embarrassment for many men.
Throughout my life I’ve been teased, mocked, criticized and bullied by people who have asked, even demanded that I prove my ancestry. How can I prove my bloodlines to others when I don’t know them myself? It is hurtful and invasive to ask someone to prove their ancestry or pedigree, it is a personal matter and it is no one’s business.
Anyone who has tried reading the Bible has probably gotten bogged down with what is called the “Begats”, there are at least one hundred and forty “Begats” and long lists of genealogy. In the old days, it was important to keep careful records of lineage for the right people to inherit kingdoms and crowns. Now, very few people inherit anything and most of us leave very little behind.
My neighbor, Walter was depressed and said that he didn’t have a wife and he didn’t have children and after he died there would be nothing to prove he ever lived, he would be forgotten. Walter wasn’t a rich man but he did have enough money to live very comfortably. I suggested that he set up a scholarship in his name and after he was dead, some deserving young people could go to college and have a better life because he had created a scholarship. He said that was too much trouble and would probably cost a great deal of money. I didn’t know why he would care what it cost if he was already dead.
I told him that a park nearby was building a brick path and he could have his name and a message carved into the brick and when others walked on the path they could see his name and whatever short message he wanted to leave behind. The path would be there for years and hundreds or thousands of people would see that he had contributed something to the park. I said it only cost ten dollars to donate a brick with his name on it.
“Ten dollars?” he said. “I don’t want to pay ten dollars for a brick.”
He wanted to leave something behind that would make people remember him, but he thought ten dollars was too much to pay for immortality.
There are countless ways to leave something behind, if we don’t have children to carry on our name we can leave scholarships, donate to charities, plant a tree, plant a flower.
If someone looks up their family tree fifty or a hundred years from now and they find our name, what do we want them to read about us?
My children and my grandchildren will always have a broken limb on our family tree because half of my ancestry will always be a mystery.
I could let it bother me but I am the child of a King and God is really the father of us all.
Crying Wind is the author of Crying Wind and My Searching Heart, When the Stars Danced, and Thunder in Our Hearts, Lightning in Our Veins. All her books are available from Indian Life.
