Apologies to those of you who are waiting for the story of last weekend's adventures in Sarasota. That will come, but in the meantime it's been a while since I posted, and I just came upon the essay I wrote for a genealogy contest with the less-than-inspiring title of this post.
The circumstances were interesting, however. Because the sponsoring organization was Irish, I thought my story might be of interest to them. Maybe it was, but not enough to win. However, a blog owner can be her own publisher, and since they didn't want it, I'm sharing it here. :)
Why My Family History Is Important to Me
A few special people develop an interest in history and family early in life. I was not one of them. As a child, I was interested in what was close by: the present, the near future, our immediate family. Distant things—the past, the future, relatives I didn’t know—impinged little on the circle of my interest. Most especially and deliberately I was not interested in my ancestry, who my forebears were and where they came from.
A child’s natural self-centeredness played a large part in my lack of interest. So, too, did a kind of reverse snobbery. I did not want to be classed with those who bragged that their ancestors came over on the Mayflower, nor with those who joined the Daughters of the American Revolution. My parents must have had some of the same attitude, because the subject certainly wasn’t of any interest to them, in spite—or because—of the fact that my mother’s grandmother was herself a member of the DAR.
What opened the world of genealogy to me was my college-age daughter's sudden and intense interest in Irish music and dance. After an exhilarating music seisiún, she would find it disappointing to have no answer to the oft-asked question, "What part of Ireland are your ancestors from?" As far as any of us knew, she had no Irish ancestors.
But we really didn't know anything at all, so I began to dig, hoping not for gold, but for green. Lo and behold, there on my mother's side was Robert Henry, born about 1740, in Ireland! That's all it said on his tombstone, but at least my daughter could claim one Irish ancestor. In another branch I found Nathan Smith, from County Tyrone, and though I haven't yet found an origin for my Cunninghams and Daughertys, their names give me hope.
Finding Irish ancestors was the goal, but I became hooked on the process. For someone who loves puzzles as much as I do, genealogy research is more fun than a cup of tea, a new World of Puzzles magazine, and a free afternoon. The map of my origins now comprises many countries, and each name, city, and date I add is a treasure.
Age and experience have a way of changing one's perspective. I still have no interest in joining any of the hereditary societies for which I qualify—sometimes many times over—but at last I realize that genealogy is only Honor thy father and thy mother writ large. Contrary to what I learned in school, history is not dull! It is the fascinating story of ideas and their consequences worked out in the lives of human beings. Our people—our ancestors and descendants, whether by blood, adoption, marriage, or some other deep connection—provide our link to that story. We stand at the point of Now; it is our family that gives us the past and the future as well.
