From generation to generation... an inspiration

One of my favorite photos of myself as a child was taken when I was about a year old. My parents and I had gone to New York (where my grandparents were born) to visit all of the family there. While there, we all sat for a family photo: myself, my mother and father, my paternal grandparents, my great-grandparents, and my great-great-grandmother. Five generations represented. This is genealogy at its purest.

 

My great-great-grandmother was born in 1887. She lived to be 102, almost 103, not passing away until I was in high school. Though we lived in the Washington, D. C. metropolitan area, I remember visiting New York on several occasions throughout my childhood. My great-grandfather died shortly after the above photo was taken, but my great-grandmother, ten years younger, survived until after I had graduated. I still have letters and notes from her, telling of the family history, after I had written to her about it when I was just nine years old. Perhaps this connection to the past, this familiarity with my ancestors as living people, has contributed to my passion for genealogy.

 

Some non-genealogists consider the search for family history a “mere” hobby, and genealogists as name-collectors. They envision long lists of names and dates, a series of “begats” like those in the Old Testament. These names, to them, have no relevance, no quality of FAMILY. But consider this:

 

Most people know at least their grandparents. They have generally fond memories, and a special place in their hearts for “Mum-mum and pap-pap,” “Nanny and Pappy,” “Grandma and Grandpa.” This is the core of genealogy.

 

Think that these beloved grandparents (read: ancestors!) felt the same love for their own grandparents, and these grandparents loved their grandparents before them. Do not our hearts reach out to these loved so much by those we ourselves have loved?

 

If we figure that a generation averages a length of about twenty years (a low estimate), then our grandparents were about forty years or so older than us, theirs about forty years or so older than them, and the next set of grandparents another forty years older. This equals about one hundred and twenty years.

 

If you were born in 1950, these great-great-great-great-grandparents – just two “connections” away from yourself – would have been born around 1830.

 

They would have been born in the era of slavery, and would have witnessed the Civil War and slavery’s end with the eyes of an adult. They would have seen the world around them get progressively smaller, as the railroads were built and extended across the continent. They may never have seen the twentieth century arrive – never conceived of the Internet, or even computers, nor televisions, nor even radios. Their early days might have consisted of hard farm-work from dawn to dusk, followed by sitting around talking with friends or family, reading, or attending a neighborhood church or a dance.

 

And speaking with their own grandparents, they would have heard of the earliest days of the nation, and maybe tales of the American Revolution heard from their grandparents before them. As these tales passed from generation to generation, some may have been forgotten over the years, or never passed on at all. This is the point of genealogy – the reconstruction of the families of the past.