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A chance encounter late Monday night has made me curious to learn more about my family history.
I had a few minutes to kill, so I idly typed in my late grandmother’s name into Google.
I’d hoped on maybe finding her obit, which I did in about three nanoseconds. She had passed away when I wasn’t quite 2, so I really don’t remember my father’s mother, although I remember family stories about her. I never knew her husband, my grandfather, either, as he died of double pneumonia back in 1936, when my dad wasn’t quite 16.
But I found something else as well: An Internet blog post from 2002 mentioned her name requesting more information on her. The poster left an email.
Although I thought a reply would probably go to some cyber-space dead letter office, I sent one just the same. I didn’t expect much: After all, it had been nine years since the request was posted.
Imagine my surprise when I heard from a distant cousin in Washington state, a woman whose mother was my grandmother’s niece. She asked about her cousins, which included my aunt, uncles and my dad. I was able to provide some family info for her, and hope to correspond with her some more in the coming weeks.
When I was younger, I didn’t much care for genealogy. I liked listening to the “old folks’ stories” about Model Ts, Model As, upsetting outhouses as a prank, taking a mule into the schoolhouse, etc., but tales about who was kin to who just bored me to tears.
Now that I’m older, I find myself wanting to hear those stories as well. I want to know what my granddad was like, other than he didn’t complain much and he worked hard. I want to hear more about my grandma’s gardening ability. I want to know about their personalities, what made them happy, what made them hoppin’ mad.
I do remember my dad saying his dad didn’t like to have his picture taken, and if someone showed him a picture of himself they had taken, he would tear it up, but I don’t know why. I’ve heard that I have the same thick wavy hair as he did, the same long arms and barrel-chested physique, and the same temperament: we can take a lot, then BLAM! Suddenly, the boiling point is reached, “That’s all I can stands, I can’t stands no more!” as Popeye used to say.
A chance encounter late Monday night has made me curious to learn more about my family history.
I had a few minutes to kill, so I idly typed in my late grandmother’s name into Google.
I’d hoped on maybe finding her obit, which I did in about three nanoseconds. She had passed away when I wasn’t quite 2, so I really don’t remember my father’s mother, although I remember family stories about her. I never knew her husband, my grandfather, either, as he died of double pneumonia back in 1936, when my dad wasn’t quite 16.
But I found something else as well: An Internet blog post from 2002 mentioned her name requesting more information on her. The poster left an email.
Although I thought a reply would probably go to some cyber-space dead letter office, I sent one just the same. I didn’t expect much: After all, it had been nine years since the request was posted.
Imagine my surprise when I heard from a distant cousin in Washington state, a woman whose mother was my grandmother’s niece. She asked about her cousins, which included my aunt, uncles and my dad. I was able to provide some family info for her, and hope to correspond with her some more in the coming weeks.
When I was younger, I didn’t much care for genealogy. I liked listening to the “old folks’ stories” about Model Ts, Model As, upsetting outhouses as a prank, taking a mule into the schoolhouse, etc., but tales about who was kin to who just bored me to tears.
Now that I’m older, I find myself wanting to hear those stories as well. I want to know what my granddad was like, other than he didn’t complain much and he worked hard. I want to hear more about my grandma’s gardening ability. I want to know about their personalities, what made them happy, what made them hoppin’ mad.
I do remember my dad saying his dad didn’t like to have his picture taken, and if someone showed him a picture of himself they had taken, he would tear it up, but I don’t know why. I’ve heard that I have the same thick wavy hair as he did, the same long arms and barrel-chested physique, and the same temperament: we can take a lot, then BLAM! Suddenly, the boiling point is reached, “That’s all I can stands, I can’t stands no more!” as Popeye used to say.
I know I look like my dad: Many, many people have told me so. Years ago, my dad came to my workplace to trade cars with me, as he needed my van for an errand. In the process, I introduced him to my coworkers.
When dad left, one turned to me and said “Carbon Copy! That’s what we’ll call you from now on! I can sure tell you two are father and son. You look just alike.” For four years afterward, until I left the print shop for a career in newspapering, I was “Carbon Copy.”
I’d heard that my dad and his dad were the same way. Were we peas in a pod? I’d like to find a picture of granddad he didn’t get to, one he didn’t tear up. I’d like to find out more about my West Coast cousins, and to someday meet them. I’d like to find out more about the family legends, to see if they were true.
Maybe I want to recapture that closeness I remember from childhood, that sense of belonging. I want to gather together with 50 or 60 loved ones, near-strangers at first, then within the space of a couple of hours, fast, lifelong friends, kinfolk, blood. I want to rekindle those connections.
I know that’s a good thing.
John Ford is managing editor of the Daily News. Email him at jford@neosho dailynews.com.
