My Mother – 1939
What Don’t I Know
Perhaps it’s because my mother was 42 when she had me – and her mother was 42 when she had her. I don’t even know if I know how old my mother’s grandmother was when she had my grandmother; it’s been a while since I logged into my Ancestry account. But that highlights an ache I have deep down: what don’t I know about the people whose genes run through me? Who were they? What did they value most in life? Did they have talents or abilities that I might share if only I knew about them? How did they deal with conflict, adversity, and success?
One of my pre-pandemic secret pleasures was watching Finding Your Roots on PBS. The show, hosted by Harvard professor Henry Louis Gates, Jr., traces the ancestral roots of at least two celebrities each episode. Sometimes the lineages of people you’d never think would have any relation to each other do, in fact, intersect. Almost always there’s something quite fascinating uncovered in either the tracing process or the DNA analysis that gives new perspective or insight into themselves to the person lucky enough to be a ‘guest’ on the show.
Full disclosure: there’s no reason I couldn’t watch it now. It just so happened that I would watch the show on the evenings that Karl would be traveling on business and staying somewhere overnight. He doesn’t seem to share my delight in the discoveries made about the lives of other people’s ancestors, and it’s rare I have the television clicker to myself nowadays. (Not that I’m complaining.)
An Amazing Story
I’m bringing this up because I read an astonishing story this morning in The Washington Post that I want to share with you. It’s the story not only of a woman of unfathomable determination and courage. Indeed, her story alone ended up warranting its own book. But even more moving to me is the fascinating reality that her own progeny had no idea how her story, her courage, her choices so profoundly impacted the generations that came after her.
This story captivated me.
The tale of Henrietta Wood’s progeny’s serendipitous discovery of her impressive story was equally delicious in its own way.
Why I Write
There are times when I’m writing in my journal about the mundane details of my life that I wonder if anyone will ever read my words someday and think, “My great grandmother was really strange. No wonder I am the way I am.” OK, maybe I think that when I’m writing about some of the more magical aspects of my life.
But still.
I’m sad that I don’t have the journals of my ancestors. I’d love to know how they thought about things and why they made the choices they did.
I wish I were a celebrity worthy of having my lineage traced by the myriad staffers on Finding Your Roots.
What don’t I know about those who came before me that might completely shift how I think about myself?
(T-275)