When a Step Backwards is Progress

"We all carry, inside of us, people who came before us."

~Liam Callanan~

A few years ago, I was cleaning out a junk drawer and came across a note I had written when I was about 18 or 19.  As I read the short note, I clearly recalled the day I wrote it.  I was at my grandparent's home and was asking my grandmother who her parents were and who my grandfather's parents were.  As she answered, I would go up another generation: "who were their parents?" That very short conversation ended when after only a couple of generations, she started saying "I don't know".  Everything she told me, I wrote down and closed the note.  I was surprised to find it all those years later.  By the time I found the note, I was deep into tracing my ancestral roots.


So why mention this now?  Because someone I love very much asked why it matters who our ancestors were and what's the big deal with genealogy.  I certainly can't speak for every genealogist in the world though I do think most of us have some common desires that urge us on.  For me, it started with a curiosity and ballooned from there.


I remember the very first time I ever did any actual physical research.  I wanted to find obituaries for my maternal great-grandparents - I don't even remember why I wanted to find them.  My mother, oldest son and I all went to the public library and looked through old newspapers.  I don't remember which of us found the first piece of documentation that those people existed but between the three of us, we found all four obits.  I also don't remember why, but we moved on to census records and found the record for one of my great-great-grandfathers.  I was stoked and the seed was planted.  I had no clue what my goal was or if I even had a goal.  Years later someone asked how I would know when I was finished.  I replied that I'd be finished when I got back to Adam and Eve.  Until then, there's always another branch up to research.


Through the years, I'd do a little research here and there but really didn't know what I was doing.  In the beginning, all I cared about was names and dates.  I'm more into learning about the individual people and their stories now.


Through trial and error (and a lot of reading on genealogy websites and message boards) I started to figure things out.  The very first post I did on one of those message boards hit paydirt.  A fifth cousin ("not removed or anything!" she exclaimed) replied to my post and opened several generations for me.  Her father had lived with someone I actually knew from my childhood.  This cousin told me where my great-grandmother and great-great-grandmother were buried and even took me to their graves.  I learned that day to love cemeteries and the information they held - both on tombstones and in the records held in the offices.


After I retired, my hobby slowly became an obsession.  The more I learned, the more I wanted to learn.  I got more excited over a birth, marriage or death certificate than most people get over diamonds and Ferraris.  I learned to read every column on a census record to discover the various occupations my ancestors held (does anyone have a clue what a Daguerreotype Artist is????).  I even learned from one census record that my maternal grandfather's grandparents lived across the street from each other and have decided in my mind that that's how his parents met.  I can't be sure, of course, but it makes sense to me.


I began dissecting every bit of information on death certificates.  Through them, I've learned that many of my ancestors suffered from some of the same health concerns.  Dropsy, apoplexy, uremia and malaria were common causes of death in the earlier years; cancer and heart disease in the later years. 


Through the generosity of other family genealogists, I have collected photos of some of my ancestors and have been surprised on more than one occasion with the family resemblances between individual family members who lived decades apart.  Though there are many apples and many trees, I've learned that the apples don't fall too far from the trees.


I've learned much about history (and now know why geography is important).  I learned about the roles of men and women in the early days of our country.  I learned that when a man died and left a wife and children under the age of 21 that those children were considered infants and were often appointed a male guardian by the courts - even though their mother was still alive.


I learned about slavery and was surprised to learn that only the very rich kept slaves.  I grew up believing everyone had slaves so this revelation was especially eye-opening for me.  Though I never actually researched which of (or even if) my ancestors kept slaves, I know that some did because they were plantation owners.  I also learned that some did not but hired free negroes to work their fields.


I learned about the roles my ancestors played in the various wars during the early days of our country.  During the Revolutionary War one was tried for treason because he sided with the British and went so far as to blow up his neighbor's boats in the harbor.  In the Civil War my ancestors fought on the side of the Confederacy.  Neither of these facts embarrasses me nor saddens me.  Times were what they were and everyone during those times had their reasons for choosing their side of an issue.


So, back to why this is important.  Certainly it doesn't rank up there with any of the hot issues of the day like our economy, gas prices, the wars in the Middle East, border security and other issues of that magnitude.  But, in my opinion, it's important individually.  Even in the Bible, God gave us an accounting of Adam and Eve's descendants (anyone remember all the "begots"?) so it must have some importance for us.  I think it's up to each individual to decide how important it is to him or her.

You Don't Understand

Everyone hears only what he understands.
~Johann Wolfgang von Goethe~

Recently, we lost a young police officer in the line of duty.  From all accounts, he was a good officer, well liked by his co-workers, a wonderful husband and father and a man who loved God.  According to his obituary, he was the second son his parents lost.  Being a mother myself, I always identify with the mother and feel a deep sympathy for her.  I thank the Lord that I've never been in her position and pray to Him that I never will be.


I also think about the young widow left to raise her now fatherless children alone.  My first thought is always about the children who will have to grow up without their dad and my next is about the wife.  There, but for the grace of God, go I and my sons.


After we'd been married just a few months, my husband told me he wanted to be a cop.  Having no clue what was about to happen to our lives, I supported him 100%.  The process of becoming a police officer took a few months because of all the testing and background checks that were involved.  The day finally came when he enrolled in the Police Academy.


My thoughts then were that this was pretty cool.  I was a cop's wife - a position I considered to be quite the status symbol.  I was proud of my new "position" and that pride has never left me.


During the first couple of years he was an officer, I watched my husband go through a metamorphosis of a sort.  I think he, too, felt he had reached a certain status.   Once he graduated the academy and began patrolling the streets of our city, he developed an attitude that I'm sure most new officers developed - that of "I'm a cop. I'm all-powerful and all knowing".  I likened this part of the metamorphism to that of thinking he was god-like (little "g" - a god - not THE God).


After awhile, he began to change.  He realized that he was arresting the same people over and over.  As fast as he'd put them in jail, the courts would let them out.  He got depressed and was despondent that he wasn't making a difference.  When I would express concern, he would tell me "you don't understand. Nobody cares".  He didn't understand either.  I cared.


Once when his shift was over and he was hours late coming home, I called the precinct and asked about him.  This was before cell phones so I had little choice in how to find him.  He was embarrassed that his wife was checking up on him and told me "you don't understand. If anything happens to me they'll notify you".  He didn't understand either.  I didn't know if he was hurt - or worse - and they hadn't gotten around to 'notifying' me yet.


Many nights, he would come home with blood on his clothes - blood he got either from breaking apart two guys trying to kill each other or maybe from someone who'd been injured.  However he got the blood on him, he would always say "you don't understand. It's not my blood".  He didn't understand either.  It didn't matter whose blood it was, the blood was a stark reminder of how dangerous his job was.


So on and on it went.  I didn't understand what it was like to be a cop and he didn't understand what it was like to be a cop's wife.  Sometimes I wonder how we survived it - we almost didn't, in fact.  I totally get why the divorce rate is so high among cops.


Nine years ago - after 30 years on the job - my husband finally retired.  He has reverted back to the man he was when we first got married and our lives now have a semblance of normalcy.  I'm still proud that I was a cop's wife for 30 years.  I wouldn't trade that life for the world but I can't say I'd want to relive it.


Being a cop is a dangerous, dirty and thankless job.  As we prepare to say goodbye to the young officer we just lost, that fact becomes more and more ingrained in me.  I hope I never lose that feeling.  God bless our law enforcement officers.

Remembering

“To live in hearts we leave behind is not to die.”

~Thomas Campbell~

We all have to accept the fact that some day we are going to die.  None of us are immortal.  I know the vast majority of us don't want to die but we don't always get what we want.


I've recently returned from a week in Washington DC where I spent time reflecting on the lives - and deaths - of those law enforcement officers who gave their lives in the performance of their duty.  Mother's Day takes place while I'm there so, of course, I spend time thinking of my mother and grandmother.  At the end of National Police Week, I reflect on the life of my beloved grandfather who went to live in Heaven on May 18, 1980.  This year, while in DC, I also visited my brother who is buried in Arlington National Cemetery.  He moved to Heaven in February 2013.


So many thoughts of people I've known and loved; thoughts of people I never met but know of  fill my mind.  I think of them and what I remember about them or have heard about them.  I find myself feeling close to people I never knew.


I never really understood - or took comfort in - the sentiment that "as long as someone is remembered, they will never die".  It never made sense to me.  Dead is dead and a memory is not the same thing as having someone with you.  It was when I learned about the life of my third great-grandfather that my thoughts on that began to change.


It occurred to me that if I had never started tracing my ancestral roots, no one would know about these people who came before us.  They weren't famous  historical figures.  I've never found a connection to anyone you can read about in a history book (talking America, here) so why WOULD anyone know who they are?  Not knowing about them is the same thing as them never having existed.  Think about that - how many people in the short history of our young country have lived and died without any acknowledgement of their existence?


So, what makes remembering so important?  Honestly, I have no clue.  I do know, though, that those who I have known and loved have left me with memories that I will cherish until the day I become just a memory for someone.  That naturally leads me to wonder how I will be remembered and what memories my family will come to cherish after I'm gone - at least I HOPE they will have some cherished memories.  I can hear my sons now telling the story of how I would tell each of them when the other wasn't around that he was my favorite but he couldn't tell his brother because it would hurt his feelings.  I'm sure that will bring a chuckle or two.


If I could choose how I'd like to be remembered, it would be first that I loved my family more than anything in the world.  I'd want them to know that my favorite role in life was that of wife and mother.  After that, I would hope to be remembered as a fair person who had an unshakable faith in God, who respected all, who gave all a second chance, who always chose to believe the best and who always ALWAYS forgave.


If I could leave a legacy for my children it would be that they would learn from the examples that I hoped I set - to be fair, honest, forgiving, to have faith in God and to love.


How would YOU like to be remembered?

I Hate Lying Liars

"I'm not upset that you lied to me, I'm upset that from now on I can't believe you.”

~Friedrich Nietzsche~

I don't understand how some people can live with themselves.  Do they have so little self-esteem that they have to lie about their participation in the lives of others because they have no life of their own?  To take credit for work others do because they do no work themselves?  To make up events in their own lives to feel important because they have such a low opinion of themselves?  To call someone a friend who isn't really a friend because they are friendless?


What kind of person makes up stories about having been part of the military during a war when, in fact, they were not?  Are they so needy to "belong" that they have to spit in the collective faces of those who HAVE served?  There is no shame in not having served and there is absolutely no good reason for lying about it.


What is the point of telling others that all the women in the group you were with once or twice a couple of years apart fought over you?  Do you have such a low opinion of yourself that you have to tell despicable lies about others to make yourself feel like a big man?  Is your ego worth the reputations of others?

All of the above, I can attribute to one person.  I used to tolerate this man but no longer.  I have always said that rudeness and disrespect are the top two things on my list of things I can't stand.  This person may have been polite in spreading his lies but there is no respect in such an action.

I decide what kind of people I want around me and none of those people have any of the charactistics of this deceitful liar.  I choose people who are honest, upright, uplifting and optimistic to be in my close circle of friends.  I don't care to have negativity in any sense invade my life.


I love my REAL friends.

One Boy, One Girl - A Love Story

A successful marriage requires falling in love many times, always with the same person.

~Mignon McLaughlin~

Once upon a time, a girl was asked by her cousin if she'd consider going on a blind date.  Now, this girl had never been on a blind date before and had heard all the stories of how awful they were.  The girl's cousin and her boyfriend both assured her that this boy was different.  They had all gone to high school together and he was a real good guy they promised.  He was even a Marine, they told her.  The girl was skeptical but after much prodding and cajoling, she finally agreed.

The night of the big date arrived and while the girl was getting ready, her mother came into her room and told her they were all here.  "What does he look like?" the girl asked her mother.  "He looks like a Marine" was the answer.  Not sure what that meant, the girl finished getting dressed and then went into the living room where she had to agree with her mother - he DID look like a Marine.

Now the girl was extremely shy so the date was pretty uneventful.  After it was over, the boy walked her to the door, said goodnight and left without even a goodnight kiss on the cheek.  The girl was sure she had royally blown that encounter and really didn't care because she felt a bit awkward around the boy.

The boy didn't call or attempt to get in touch with the girl for several weeks and then one day, the girl's cousin called the girl and told her that the boy wanted to take her to the annual Marine Corps Ball.  The girl didn't know what to say.  She had been dating a couple of other boys off and on - no commitments - just casual dates.  She finally decided that it might be fun to go to a Ball but she still hadn't seen the boy since their disastrous date.

During those weeks of no contact, the girl's cousin had married her boyfriend and they moved a couple of blocks from the girl.  The girl used to visit the cousin and on one of those visits, the cousin snuck into the kitchen and called the boy to tell him the girl was there.  The boy came right over.  The girl was surprised and a bit embarrassed.

The boy asked her if she had gotten his message and the girl said she had.  After a short pause, the boy said "Well?"  "Well what?" asked the girl.  "Are you going to answer the question?"  "What question?" the girl replied. "You haven't asked me anything."  The boy laughed, said okay and then very politely asked the girl if she would accompany him to the Marine Corps Ball.  The girl said yes.

Now, the girl was still dating the other two fellas - there still were no commitments or promises made so the girl felt free to play the field.  One evening when the girl had a date with one of the other fellas, the boy paid her a surprise visit and was confused when he walked up the walk with another fella and the girl's father came out, chuckled, lowered his head and walked by the two suitors without saying a word.

The girl was getting ready when her mother came into her room and told her that  her date was here.  So is the boy, the mother added and then asked 'what are you going to do?'  The girl told her that she was going on the date because she had agreed to go and the boy would just have to get over it.  "After all," the girl said, "no one has made any commitments here".  The mother agreed.

When the girl came out, the boy had figured out what was going on and bowed out gracefully.  The girl went on her date but kept thinking about how awkward that must have been for the boy.

The night of the Marine Corps Ball arrived and when the boy picked the girl up, he was in full dress blues.  The girl lost all sense about herself and kept staring at the boy all night with "that look" as it was described to her much later.  The boy and the girl had their first dance to the theme from "Love Story" and that pretty much clinched things for the girl.

The day after the Ball, the girl called the other two fellas and told them she couldn't see them anymore.  There still were no commitments but the girl was no longer interested in the other two suitors.  A few weeks later, the boy proposed and the girl said yes.  A year later, the boy and girl were married.

That was 39 years ago today and you've probably guessed that my husband and I are the boy and girl.  It's been a rocky road with some really deep pot holes along the way but we've weathered the storm and have come out all the stronger.

It's not hard to stay married for a long time - just don't split up.  The hard part is making it work and staying together when you would rather just give up and leave.  We considered divorce ourselves at one point but for some reason, we just talked about it and never pursued it.  We're both glad we didn't.

A few weeks ago, we were telling our sons about us back then and I told them all for the first time what was going through my mind as the preacher was asking if I promised to 'love and honor' this man forever.  Every fiber of my being was screaming at me to "RUN!  GET OUT NOW BEFORE IT'S TOO LATE!"  Instead, my mouth was saying "I DO".  After admitting this, my husband squeezed my hand and said "I'm glad you didn't".  You know what?  I'm glad I didn't too.

A Different Perspective

God has no religion
~Mahatma Gandhi~

I have always said that religion is man made.  I had no idea I was in such good company or that my thought wasn't original.  There I go again thinking I'm all that with a cherry on top to boot.  But I digress. 

When something is done in the name of 'religious freedom' what exactly does that mean?  Supposedly it means that every religion has the right to co-exist peacefully.  Nice concept.  When the first colonists came to the New World, they did so for religious freedom.  Apparently they meant religious freedom for them and their religion.  Their tolerance did not extend to other religions.

The Puritans of the Massachusetts Bay Colony were some of the biggest persecutors of the Quakers and, in fact, passed a law that Quakers were not allowed in their settlement.  Likewise, in early Maryland, a law was enacted that barred Catholics from practicing openly and went so far as to ban Catholics from holding positions of authority.  And then there are the atheists who demand freedom from religion.  Personally, I think that's a redundant concept since we all have the right to choose our religion or not to choose, I would think.

So, here's what I don't quite grasp:  why is religious freedom an issue?  Don't all various religions in Christianity worship the same God?  It's those religions that worship someone or something else - or those that worship nothing - that is different.  Allah, Buddha, Krishna, Confucius, the various gods of the Greeks and Vikings - none of them are the one God, the creator of the universe and mankind.  Should not the issue be freedom to worship who we want rather than how we worship?  Isn't that the real freedom?

Maybe I think too simply, but I don't get why so many have so little tolerance for anyone who thinks differently from themselves.  My God tells us to 'love others as we love ourselves'.  That seems pretty straightforward to me.  He didn't add a condition that "as long as they believe as you do", did He?  My God loves everyone equally - yes, even those who don't worship Him.  He has given us free will to choose who we will worship - or not to worship anyone.

I know I'm not the only one who feels this way, so, again, I ask: what's the real issue here?

About September 11

The one thing that terrorist cannot do -- not one of them, not 10 of them, not 10,000 of them -- they can't change who we are.

~Gen. Colin Powell~

Twelve years and the memory is as clear as if it were today.  It's one of those times in history that no matter how long it's been, you still remember where you were and what you were doing when it happened.  You can still remember the feelings that washed over you - the disbelief, the fear, the anger, the helplessness, the uncertainty of what was going to happen now and the overwhelming need to reach out to those we love to make sure they were alright.

This year seems to be more intense than any of the past annual observances - at least it seems to me that's the case.  I think it's because there's so much happening at this point in time that is causing a knot in collective stomachs of most Americans.  Well, in MY stomach anyway.

I think it began when AMPAC (American Muslim Political Action Committee) decided to have one million Muslims march in Washington DC to demand their civil rights be protected.  Okay, fine, I don't see why their civil rights are any less protected than anyone else's but, okay, let them march.  But on THIS particular day?  Of all the 365 days in a year, why would they pick the one day on which most Americans are not very sympathetic to them?  It shows a total lack of respect and compassion for what happened on that horrific day twelve years ago.  I believe it's not only disrespectful and discompassionate (is that even a word??) but also comes across as blatantly throwing it in our faces.

Then, along comes a group of bikers who decide to take two million bikes to Washington to protest the Muslims protest - protesting a protest - that's a new one but I like it!  Now here's where it starts to get, um, wow - I can't think of a word to use!  Funky?  Weird?  Oh, I know - how about discriminatory?  Yeah, this is where it starts to get discriminatory.  The Muslims were granted a permit while the bikers were denied theirs.  According to one of the co-founders of the bikers organization, their permit was denied because it was a weekday, it would tie up traffic and the police force didn't have enough manpower to block off all the roads.

God bless our biker community.  They're nothing if not resilient.  No permit?  No problem - "we'll go anyway and just obey all the traffic laws" they said.  Wouldn't you know that "they" (whoever the proverbial "they" are) would have none of that?  Sorry bikers but the President has decided to give a speech at the same place where you planned to be so the roads will have to be closed - you know, for security reasons.  Resilience rises again and the bikers said 'no problem - we'll just change our route but we'll have to keep it private - you know, for security reasons'.

I have to admit that this determination from the biker group has my heart swelling with a sense of patriotic pride that I've not felt in a very long time.  It feels good to know that not only are there more than two million Americans who still have a sense of what our great nation is all about but that they are also willing to take a stand and not let anything stop them.

You know what's the kicker?  These bikers wouldn't even be doing this if the Muslim group hadn't chosen this particular day for their protest.  I don't know anyone who wants to deny them their civil rights but ya know, I for one (and I suspect there are millions who agree with me) don't feel one iota of compassion for them on this day of all days.  If they want Americans to support their so-called "cause", then they should have picked another day.

God bless the USA