I had often been asked how I can talk about various ancestors as if I actually knew them. To most of the famliy those names on that pretty family tree chart were just that, names. When I first began to share my genealogy research, I would have agreed with them and my stories and desctiptions were less than vivid enough to bring life to my distant relations. But as I dove more deeply into the lives the people attached to those names lived, I began to understand and more importantly relate to the personalities that shaped our personal family histories.Take my paternal grandfather for example. He died long before I was born, long before my father married my mother. I knew his name; when and where he was born.I had a photo of him, only one studio shot that shows a dignified white haired man. His look in the photo is that of a man of education and a man who may be considered somewhat hard, strict with his family. But, as I look into the bespeckled eyes behind the gling of a flash on glass, I see a softness in his eyes, and a kind of sorrow. And I remember the stories my father told us when were were children. Who was my grandfather. This was the occasion that sparked me to want to bring life to those names. So, I began to expand my search into records that were beyond the scope of the traditional genealogist of 25 years ago; those records of birth, death, marriage, and such.I discovered the richness of newspaper accounts and glowing obituaries. I found a joyful interest in the stacks of old family letters that came my way. I learned of the occupations and the determination of those living through what, until recent history, was one of the worst depressions in the world. Tucked into some of those old letters I also discovered small faded snapsots and yellowed negatives that offered little hope of recognition. But they were saved and eventually their secrets were brought to light.When it became possible to recover those old photos a new story began to unfold. This man, whom I discovered had been an honored soldier in WWI, a college graduate with honors, a minister who was dishearted by the horrors of war so much that he left the clergy, but never forgot his faith. My grandfather was a dreamer, always with another scheme up his sleve to make money to support his family in times of great want. He was also studious and a prolific writer, always working on a story or submitting an article to a national publication. He maneuvered himself into a postion of authority and responsibility with local city officialdom, and moved up the ladder to finally represent southern forresters in Washington, presenting and promoting legislation to save southern forests. He was dedicated to his family, and his final letters home display great longing for his wife and children, and his letters are stuffed with love poems to the wife he so often had to leave at home to care for his children, alone but with great understanding and support for those things he felt he had to do.Today, if you ask me about my grandfather, I can tell you, of course, his name, birth and death dates, occupation, places of residence and similar facts, all supported by the appropriate documentation. But then, I can sit you down and tell you about him playing hide and seek with his little girl, or rolling up his pants and wading into a pond to fish next to his grandfather and his little boys. I can regail you with the tails of his adventures, of how he bartered for milk and eggs by offering advertising in a little local newspaper he gave away for a couple of pennies. A Shopper paper that eventually grew to become the local, nation wide shopper magazines we all recongize in most major cities. I could explain how he helped promote a new highway through Florida and fostered the building and growth of a little mid-Florida town of Kissimmee, near a national treasure, Disney world. Some of the land for that entertainment conglomerate, by the way, was later owned by his son who sold it to the Disney complex.I have hundreds, if not thousands, of stories about my grandfather, his ancestors and progeny that fills my mind with images of those people. I feel as if I know how they would react in different situations, and why they became the people they were.As I welcome another new grandchild, I am reminded that by the time she is my age, I will be long gone. I realize that I have spent so many years recording all that has gone through our family before, and some small details of the generations of myself and my children. I suddenly understand that our family history must, by necessity, also include my story so that in the years beyone, my grandchildren and their children will be able to know who WE were. Not just know the names ina list of old people who died before they were born.I hope, if you are reading this, and you are a genealogist, you will begin to expand your research and build a real history of your family and don’t forget to include yourself.
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