My mother was a genealogist. I would love to say I followed in her footsteps, but one incident in particular years ago impressed upon me the fact that it just was not going to happen.
The reason I mentioned this is because oral histories are coming to life in our area. The Kentucky Gateway Museum Center has just finished a studio and hired a person to record the stories of the people in this region who made the history. My friend Angie Combs has done the legwork and the bookwork and is in the process of giving us the story of local business leader and philanthropist Clyde Barbour. Drew Spangler right here at the station is launching a YouTube channel dedicated to the stories of local veterans.
Which brings me back to Mom. My mother would go to our relatives and ask about family history, and she was greeted with “Oh, we don’t want to talk about that.” What do you mean, not talk about that? That is the most interesting part of any family. I want to hear more about the pirates and horse thieves and card sharps. Those are the flavors that make history so delicious.
Yet some people continue to try to revise history to fit their mentalities. Winston Churchill famously said that history is written by the victors. I contend that no one wins when our history is altered to fit a preset condition or a desired outlook. But back to Mom.
My shallow dive into the genealogical family pool came on a snowy day. I picked up some Hardee’s cinnamon raisin biscuits and went to my Mother’s house, eager, willing, and able to start working on our family history.
The tastiness of the biscuits and the strength of the coffee were about the only things on which we agreed. While I wanted to build the bones of our history (i.e. Mom and Dad had a son and daughter, they had a son and daughter, and so on), my Mother wanted to start off with anecdotes. While I agree stories are the most important parts of getting a family history together, I think that first you must get the family tree sketched out. Add the stories later. Kind of like decorating a Christmas tree after it has been trimmed.
Mom disagreed. Our collaboration lasted 20 minutes. Which, come to think of it, may be the record for the longest time we were able to work on a project together.
When my Mother passed, I was entrusted with the volumes of note cards and post-it notes chronicling the journey of our family. It goes without saying that I was unable to make heads nor tails of her filing system. I was obviously not up to the task. Deciphering Mom’s scribble history was not a skill with which I was familiar.
So, I made the sensible choice and gifted the whole kit and caboodle to my cousin, Elaine Hardwick who is, in all ways, more of a responsible adult than I. Hopefully our family tree will not be felled by a lone nut (me).
