And, just like that, we are come to the final week of the "52 Ancestors in 52 Weeks" writing challenge. Writing about my genealogical hobby every week has been the first resolution I've ever kept, perhaps because I love to write and I love genealogy. Sadly, I also love chocolate and wine, but that's neither here nor there... This year wouldn't have been nearly as much fun if you hadn't read and responded to the posts. I wasn't expecting that and it was so wonderful! Thank you SO much for your support and compassion. It made my year!
I must also thank Amy Johnson Crow for creating and managing the writing challenge, asking us to "do something with our genealogy." Many people find genealogical research to be daunting, and then those who struggle through it (and their family members) are often dismayed to realize they now have a dry and dusty list of names, dates and places to show for their efforts -- bleh! Taking the next step, squinting into the mists of time to try to find the outline of the real people who had hopes and dreams, who loved and hated and was good and bad and, well, human... it takes not just facts but imagination, empathy and some chutzpah. I certainly learned some things about myself as I contemplated the lives of my ancestors this year; I'm pretty sure they approved.
When my mother died in May of 2000 and I went through The Little House to prepare it for sale, I found a bundle of letters and postcards addressed to my great-grandmother, Dora Thomas, dated from May of 1917 to July of 1919. A cursory examination of the envelopes showed that they were from my grandfather, Shug, who had died twenty years before I was born, and who was a shadowy, unformed figure in my mind. Mom had written down some memories of him and I'd come across other photographs, papers and memorabilia as I sorted and packed, but I really hadn't thought about him much.
The packet of letters kind of scared me. Although far from a scholar of history, I am an avid reader and I'd seen All Quiet on the Western Front. Had Shug's experience been similarly horrific? Although I'm usually insatiably curious, I tucked the letters away without reading them.
In 2001, I finally got up the courage to read the letters. I learned that Shug had an incredibly fortunate time of it during the War, but, even more compelling, the letters painted a poignant picture of his transformation from a naive, small-town boy into a man broadened by travel and exposure to other cultures. It was an amazing story, introducing me to a man I was glad to finally get to know, and someone who I wished others could meet, as well. I found a small company that would take a word processing manuscript and create a small softcover book for you, the first of the internet-based self-publishers that are so readily available now, and ordered a few copies for family, as well as for our home-town library.
That same year, "America's Genealogist," Megan Smolenyak Smolenyak, asked the genealogy community for stories about ways in which people had chosen to "use" their research to commemorate and pay tribute to their ancestors. Revered for her tireless work for the US military to identify and allow repatriation of the remains of fallen soldiers, Smolenyak published her book "Honoring Our Ancestors" the next year and my project with Shug's letters is one of the examples mentioned in her epilogue. Smolenyak wrote about people who "are looking for ways to simultaneously demonstrate respect and gratitude for their ancestors and to draw inspiration and direction from them."
And I think that statement beautifully describes the reasons to "do genealogy." On the one hand, we are who we are. Whether by nature or by nurture, our genes and our formative experiences have created a person, and if I find myself fundamentally changed by learning that my heritage is more kilt than lederhosen, perhaps the next step should be an examination of my foundational ideology rather than searching for haggis recipes.
But Socrates said "the unexamined life is not worth living," and discovering new, sometimes surprising information about things one thought were de facto is certainly an impetus for further exploration. Like Shug's travels as a soldier, learning about other places and people is always broadening, providing new perspectives on both the world and oneself. For example, I learned that, like John and George Thomas, I love new frontiers and wide-open spaces, but, also, like Mathilda, I do enjoy those creature comforts. Like Inez and Dorothy and Libby, I've not always chosen wisely, but also like them and Dora, Erwin and Mary Rilla, I persevered through tough times and found joy, no matter what (and, as turned out to be the case for David, that joy often was a dog). I am familiar with the stories of people like Harriet Tubman and Boadicea, but could I be as brave or as determined as they? But it's easier, somehow to think that, because I share their genes, I might be as brave as Hannah, who made it through the workhouse, or as determined as Minnie, who rejected humble servitude and chose to live on her own terms. Use the tools at hand, right?
The writing prompts for the 2024 edition of "52 Ancestors in 52 Weeks" are already available. As Amy Johnson Crow reminds, you don't have to write essays or create a blog; you can share a photo or video -- "the point is to DO something!" I must take the year off, but how about you? What might you learn about your ancestors and yourself? There's only one way to find out.
Buckle up, Buttercup!
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