Week 15 – Big Mistake

I’m sure we’ve all made mistakes in genealogy research.  I’ve made plenty - from going down rabbit holes only to find out I tracked the wrong person for five generations; spending months and even years trying to locate that 4X’s great-grandmother, only to discover she was right in front of me all along; and probably the worst was sending money to a “professional genealogist” to search for a documents in a far-away county, who I never heard from again. I own all of these mistakes, and I’ve learned from them, but the biggest mistake I’ve made was not paying better attention to my ancestors while they were still alive.

I don’t recall ever having to study History in elementary school, but by the time junior high rolled around, it became my favorite subject.  I can’t really explain why, other than I loved reading and how it took me to places that I would never see, other than in my mind. I heard stories of our long-ago ancestors from my paternal grandmother beginning at a very early age, but their history just simply wasn’t interesting to me. 

On trips to Missouri when I was a small, we would visit the cemetery where my paternal grandfather, one set of great-grandparents, and an aunt who died when she was sixteen, were laid to rest. I knew their names, but I would rather run through the headstones, sit in the shade of the gazebo, or pick dandelions rather than hear stories that my grandmother and her sister would tell me.  There were plenty of times that it probably looked like I was paying attention, but I can assure you, it went in one ear and out the other.

Western Oklahoma was the place for family reunions on my mother’s side.  There were so many people at pretty much every event we attended. The “old folks” would sit around and talk of days gone by, and some of them were quite up there in age.  I can only imagine the things they’d seen and done, but with all the cousins there closer to my age, we had other ideas of what a good time was.

Don’t get me wrong, I did, somehow, manage to absorb some of the stories I’d heard. Stories that helped guide me through my research.  Along the way, names that were mentioned often when I was a child would pop up in my memories; I’d recall historical events that one or more of ancestors participated in; I’d see a photo that I would recognize from a picture frame sitting in some family members home; or I might recall the name of a town or a county where an ancestor lived. Oh, what I wouldn’t give to step back in time.  Just a couple of day is all I’d need.  I would reach out and grab all the stories of my ancestors that were told me that I let slip through my fingers; of tragedies and joys; of prosperity and hard times; of accomplishment and failure.  All these stories are part of what makes me who I am today.

If you still have older relatives, it’s not too late.  Sit down with them, strike up a conversation about their past, and above all, write down what you’ve learned. If you’re one of the oldest in your family, tell the stories you know. Make sure your children and grandchildren know where they came from. I’m in the oldest living generation of my family. I can share what I’ve learned, but not paying better attention will always be the biggest mistake I’ve ever made. Don’t be like me…