Why My Interest in Genealogy?

 

I've always envied those with a rich, ethnic heritage. 

In high school, I would relish the tales of my Irish Catholic friends as they recounted humorous stories of large family reunions. I romanticized the movie scenes of Italian-American families crowded around the dining room table which was filled with enough pasta to feed the neighborhood.

Interestingly enough, I married an Italian (but that is a post for another day).

My heritage, as far as I knew, was a southern mutt. Dad was born in San Antonio, attended high school in Houston, and graduated from the University of Texas (Austin). Mom was born in rural Robertson County, Texas, moved to Houston when she was a teenager and attended the same high school as Dad. They married in 1950, and I was born nearly ten years later. Dad's job transferred us to Connecticut in 1971, and my Texas relatives immediately referred to us as "Yankees" 

While I have always had a deep desire to document immediate family history, it never occurred to me to ask my parents about their ancestors. Until it was too late. Dad died in 2005 and Mom passed in 2011. 

Five years later I felt compelled to discover my ethnic background. Perhaps it was because I was approaching sixty and felt the weight of my own mortality. Or perhaps it was the realization that I was now an orphan and the matriarch of the family. 

Whatever the reason, I registered for a free Ancestry.com account and spent the next fourteen days researching my humble beginnings. From what country did I originate? When did my ancestors cross the Atlantic?

Those fourteen days taught me three valuable lessons:

1. I could not possibly research 200 years in two weeks.
2. Birth dates and death dates are only the tip of the genealogy iceberg.
3. I am Southern.

I followed the green-leaf hints of each ancestor, which always lead to another southern relation: Texas to Tennessee to Alabama to South Carolina. How boring is this lineage? Where was my European connection?

Out of disappointment (and real-life events), I put genealogy on hold for a few years. By that time I was semi-retired and I could devote more time to what would become a passionate hobby.

I paid for an Ancestry account and started to re-create my family tree.

I took my time adding the branches, focusing on the eight family names:

• My father's father (Coleman)
• My father's mother (Bryan)
• My mother's father (Miles)
• My mother's mother (Dowdy)
• My father's paternal grandmother (Johnson)
• My father's maternal grandmother (Wade)
• My mother's paternal grandfather (French)
• My mother's maternal grandmother (Crane)

I created pedigree charts (for five generations) and family group sheets. I scoured census data. I then discovered the treasure-trove of newspaper clippings to add social history context to the family tree.

Slowly I began to realize a rich family heritage does not necessarily originate overseas.

I am an American.

And while some of my ancestors made choices that wound my soul, it is my legacy. These choices affected how my parents were raised ... how I was raised ... and how I raised my own children.

I am responsible and honored to tell this story.

It is my sincere hope and prayer that my children will understand their history and learn from it. That they will appreciate their lineage and develop a deep love and respect for their ancestors despite their flaws. And that they will learn lessons from the past so as not to repeat them in the future.

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Those of you already working on your family tree, I'd love to hear how and why you started.

And for those who may resist the plunge, please know that genealogy is far more than a collection of boring charts and graphs. Powerful family stories are locked within those papers, patiently waiting for your discovery.