FAMILY TREE
Author Unknown
If you could see your ancestors,
all standing in a row,
Would you be proud of them, or not,
or don't you really know.
Some strange discoveries are made,
in climbing family trees,
and some of them, you know,
do not particularly please.
If you could see your ancestors,
all standing in a row,
there might be some of them perhaps,
you wouldn't care to know.
But, there's a different question,
which requires a different view,
If you could see your ancestors,
Would they be proud of YOU?
THE FAMILY TREE
I think that I shall never see
The finish of a family tree.
As it forever seems to grow
from roots that started very low;
'Way back in ancient history times,
In foreign lands and distant climes,
From them grew trunk and branching limb,
That dated back to time so dim,
One seldom knows exactly when
The parents met and married then,
Nor when the twigs began to grow
With odd named children, row on row.
Though a verse like this is made by me
And the end's in sight as you can see;
It is not the same with family trees
That grow and grow through centuries.
by: Willis G. Corbitt, Feb. 7, 1960
This was printed in the "Beaver Briefs" section of the Beaver, Oklahoma newspaper.
GRANDMA AND THE FAMILY TREE
Author Unknown
There's been a change in Grandma; we've noticed her of late,
She's always reading history or jotting down some date.
She's tracking back the family; we'll all have pedigrees.
Oh, Grandma's got a hobby; she's climbing Family Trees.
Poor Grandpa does the cooking now, or so he states,
That worst of all, he has to wash the cups and dinner plates.
Grandma can't be bothered; she's busy as a bee
Compiling genealogy -- for the Family Tree.
She has no time to baby-sit; the curtains are a fright,
No buttons left on Granddad's shirt, the flowerbed's a sight.
She's given up her club work, the serials on TV,
The only thing she does nowadays is climb the Family Tree.
She goes down to the court house and studies ancient lore,
We know more about our forebears than we ever knew before.
The books are old and dusty; they make poor Grandma sneeze,
A minor irritation when you're climbing Family Trees.
The mail is all for Grandma, it comes from near and far,
Last week she got the proof she needs to join the DAR.
A worth while avocation, to that we all agree,
A monumental project, to climb the Family Tree.
Now some folks came from Scotland and some from Galway Bay,
Some were French as pastry, some German, all the way.
Some went on west to stake their claim, some stayed near by the sea,
Grandma hopes to find them all as she climbs the Family Tree.
She wanders through the graveyard in search of date or name,
The rich, the poor, the in-between, all sleeping there the same.
She pauses now and then to rest, fanned by a gentle breeze
That blows above the Fathers of all our Family Trees.
There were pioneers and patriots mixed in our kith and kin
Who blazed the paths of wilderness and fought through thick and thin.
But none more staunch than Grandma, whose eyes light up with glee
Each time she finds a missing branch for the Family Tree.
Their skills were wide and varied, from carpenter to cook
And one (Alas!) the record shows was hopelessly a crook.
Blacksmith, weaver, farmer, judge, some tutored for a fee,
Long lost in time, now all recorded on the Family Tree.
To some it's just a hobby; to Grandma it's much more,
She knows the joys and heartaches of those who went before.
They loved, they lost, they laughed, and they wept, and now lay forever still,
But they will not, be forgotten as long, as Grandma climbs the family tree.
YOU KNOW YOU’RE TAKING GENEALOGY TOO SERIOUSLY IF...
Author Unknown
You know you're taking genealogy too seriously if...
You are the only person to show up at the cemetery research party with a
shovel.
To put the "final touches" on your genealogical research, you've asked all
of your closest relatives to provide DNA samples.
You decided to take a two-week break from genealogy, and the U.S. Postal
Office immediately laid off 1,500 employees.
Out of respect for your best friend's unquestioned reputation for honesty
and integrity, you are willing to turn off that noisy surveillance camera
while she reviews your 57 genealogical research notebooks in your home. The
armed security guard, however, will remain.
You plod merrily along "refining" your recently published family history,
blissfully unaware that the number of errata pages now far exceeds the
number of pages in your original publication.
During an ice storm and power outage, you ignore the pleas of your
shivering spouse and place your last quilt around that 1886 photograph of
dear Uncle George.
The most recent document in your "Missing Ancestors" file is a 36- page
contract between you and Johnson Billboard Advertising Company.
Ed McMahon, several TV cameras and an envelope from Publishers Clearing
House arrive at your front door on Super Bowl Sunday, and the first thing
you say is, "Are you related to the McMahon’s of Ohio?"
"A Loving Family" and "Financial Security" have moved up to second and
third, respectively, on your list of life's goals, but still lag far behind
"Owning My Own Microfilm Reader."
A magical genie appears and agrees to grant your any one wish, and you ask
that the 1890 census be restored.
You want the day when all records everywhere will available for online
research to be yesterday instead of someday...
Your fourth wife pauses long enough at your desk to hand you the final
divorce papers and without looking up you calmly type DIV in the marriage
status box of your genealogy program.
You subscribe to so many genealogy mailing lists that you are still
responding to messages posted 4 years ago.
You consider your dead ancestors and their relatives friends. You have more
dead friends than live ones.
You were instrumental in having "non-genealogical use of the genealogy room
copy machine" classified as a federal hate crime.
Your house leans slightly toward the side where your genealogical records
are stored.
You spend two months salary to buy the latest scanner that allows
reproduction of photo negatives and microfilm. You take it with your laptop
computer to the library to duplicate a microfilm instead of using the
machine
there to make photocopies of the pages you want because that one is too slow
and costly.
You scowl at anyone who sits in the chair in front of the microfilm reader
by
the extra electrical outlet.
You address everyone you meet now as "cousin."
You are the highest bidder at a govt. auction for 16 fireproof, five drawer,
legal size filing cabinets to store your paper documents only to remember
that you have converted all of them to digital format and were going to
recycle them. At least you can still recycle the cardboard boxes they're
stored in now.
You average 10 or more "Do you wish to stay connected?" messages from your
internet service provider per online research session.
Your monthly research expenditures exceed all other items in your household
budget.
You flood the mailbox of the poor unfortunate person that posts a message on
"your" list that doesn't quite fit the rules.
I WENT SEARCHING
Anonymous
I went searching for an ancestor, I cannot find him still.
He moved around from place to place and did not leave a will.
He married where a courthouse burned, he mended all his fences.
He avoided any man who came to take the U.S. Census.
He always kept his luggage packed, this man who had no fame,
And every 20 years or so, this rascal changed his name.
His parents came from Europe. They should be on some list
of passengers to the U.S.A., but somehow they got missed.
And no one else in this world is searching for this man.
So, I play geneasolitaire to find him if I can.
I'm told he's buried in a plot, with tombstone he was blessed;
but the weather took engraving, and some vandals took the rest.
He died before the county clerks decided to keep records.
No family Bible has emerged, in spite of all my efforts.
To top it off, this ancestor who caused me many groans,
Just to give me one more pain, betrothed a girl named JONES!
THERE WAS LIFE BEFORE THE COMPUTER
Author Unknown
An application was for employment
A program was a TV show
A cursor used profanity
A keyboard was a piano!
Memory was something that you lost with age
A CD was a bank account!
And if you had a broken disk,
It would hurt when you found out!
Compress was something you did to garbage
Not something you did to a file
And if you unzipped anything in public
You'd be in jail for a while!
Log on was adding wood to a fire
Hard drive was a long trip on the road
A mouse pad was where a mouse lived
And a backup happened to your commode!
Cut- you did with a pocket knife
Paste- you did with glue
A web was a spider's home
And a virus was the flu!
I guess I'll stick to my pad and paper
And the memory in my head
I hear nobody's been killed in a computer crash
But when it happens they wish they were dead!
A GENEALOGY NIGHTMARE
Author Unknown
A modern mother is explaining to her little girl about pictures in the family photo album. "This is the geneticist with your surrogate mother and here's your sperm donor and your father's clone. This is me holding you when you were just a frozen embryo. The lady with the very troubled look on her face is your aunt, a genealogist."
And I thought I was up against "brick walls."
FROM A FRIENDLY VILLAGER
Your tombstone stands among the rest
Neglected and alone.
The name and date are chiseled out
On polished, marbled stone.
It reaches out to all who cares
It is too late to mourn.
You did not know that I exist
You died and I was born.
Yet each of us are cells of you
In flesh, in blood, in bone.
Our blood contracts and beats a pulse
Entirely not our own.
Dear Ancestor, the place you filled
One hundred years ago
Spreads out among the ones you left
Who would have loved you so.
I wonder if you lived and loved,
I wonder if you knew
That someday I would find this spot,
And come to visit you.
Author Unknown
WHO AM I
I started out calmly, tracing my tree,
To find, if I could, the makings of me.
And all that I had was Great-grandfather's name,
Not knowing his wife's nor from whence they both came.
I chased him across a long line of states,
And came up with pages and pages of dates.
When all put together, it made me forlorn,
Proved poor Great-grandpa had never been born.
One day I was sure the truth I had found,
Determined to turn this whole thing upside down.
I looked up the record of one Uncle John,
Then found the old man was younger than his son.
But then when my hopes were growing quite dim,
I came across records that must have been him.
The facts I collected - they made me quite sad,
Dear old Great-grandfather was never a Dad.
I think someone surely is pulling my leg,
I'm not at all sure I'm not hatched from an egg.
After hundreds of dollars I've spent on my tree,
I can't help but wonder if I'm really me.
Author Unknown
I AM MY OWN GRANDPA!
author unknown
Many many years ago when I was twenty three,
I got married to a widow who was pretty as could be.
This widow had a grown-up daughter
Who had hair of red.
My father fell in love with her,
And soon the two were wed.
This made my dad my son-in-law
And changed my very life.
My daughter was my mother,
For she was my father's wife.
To complicate the matters worse,
Although it brought me joy,
I soon became the father
Of a bouncing baby boy.
My little baby then became
A brother-in-law to dad.
And so became my uncle,
Though it made me very sad.
For if he was my uncle,
Then that also made him brother
To the widow's grown-up daughter
Who, of course, was my stepmother.
Father's wife then had a son,
Who kept them on the run.
And he became my grandson,
For he was my daughter's son.
My wife is now my mother's mother
And it makes me blue.
Because, although she is my wife,
She's my grandmother too.
If my wife is my grandmother,
Then I am her grandchild.
And every time I think of it,
It simply drives me wild.
For now I have become
The strangest case you ever saw.
As the husband of my grandmother,
I am my own grandpa!
GENEALOGY POX
WARNING: Genealogy Pox, very contagious
SYMPTOMS: Continual complaint as to need for names, dates and places. Patient has a blank expression and sometimes deaf to spouse and children. Has no taste for work of any kind except feverishly looking through records at libraries and courthouses. Has compulsion to write letters. Swears at the mailman when he doesn't leave mail. Frequents strange places, such as cemeteries, ruins and remote desolate country areas. Makes secret night calls, hides phone bills and mumbles to self. Has strange faraway look in eyes.
TREATMENT: Medication is useless, Disease is not fatal but gets progressively worse. Patient should atteend workshops subscribe to magazines and be given a quiet corner in the house where they can be alone.
REMARKS: The unusual nature of this disease, is the sicker the patient gets, the more they enjoy it.
Author Unknown
THE TEN COMMANDMENTS FOR NAMES
Author Unknown
(1) Thou shalt name your male children: James, John, Joseph, Josiah, Abel, Richard, Thomas, William and your female children: Elizabeth, Mary, Martha, Maria, Sarah, Ida, Virginia, May. Thou shalt, after naming your children from the above lists, call them by strange nicknames such as: Ike, Eli, Polly, Dolly, Sukey---making them difficult to trace.
(2) Thou shalt leave NO trace of your female children.
(3) Thou shalt NOT use any middle names on any legal documents or census reports, and only where necessary, you may use only initials on legal documents.
(4) Thou shalt learn to sign all documents illegibly so that your surname can be spelled, or misspelled, in various ways: Hicks, Hix, Hixe, Hucks, Kicks.
(5) Thou shalt, after no more then 3 generations, make sure that all family records are lost, misplaced, burned in a court house fire, or buried so that NO future trace of them can be found.
(6) Thou shalt propagate misleading legends, rumors, & vague innuendo regarding your place origination (A) you may have come from : England, Ireland, Scotland, Wales....or Iran. (B) you may have American Indian ancestry of the______tribe...... (C) You may have descended from one of three brothers that came over from______ .
(7) Thou shalt leave NO cemetery records, or headstones with legible names.
(8) Thou shalt leave NO family Bible with records of birth, marriages, or deaths.
(9) Thou shalt ALWAYS flip thy name around. If born James Albert, thou must make all the rest of thy records in the names of Albert, AJ, JA, AL, Bert, Bart, or Alfred.
(10) Thou must also flip thy parent's names when making reference to them, although "Unknown" or a blank line is an acceptable alternative.
FLESHING OUT THE BONES
Author Unknown
We are the chosen. My feelings are that in each family there is one who seems called to find the ancestors. To put flesh on their bones and make them live again.
To tell the family story and to feel that somehow they know and approve. To me, doing genealogy is not a cold gathering of facts but, instead, breathing life into all who have gone before.
We are the storytellers of the tribe. All tribes have one. We have been called as it were by our genes. Those who have gone before cry out to us: Tell our story. So, we do. In finding them, we somehow find ourselves.
How many graves have I stood before now and cried? I have lost count. How many times have I told the ancestors you have a wonderful family you would be proud of us?
How many times have I walked up to a grave and felt somehow there was love there for me? I cannot say.
It goes beyond just documenting facts. It goes to who am I and why do I do the things I do? It goes to seeing a cemetery about to be lost forever to weeds and indifference and saying I can't let this happen.
The bones here are bones of my bone and flesh of my flesh. It goes to doing something about it. It goes to pride in what our ancestors were able to accomplish. How they contributed to what we are today. It goes to respecting their hardships and losses, their never giving in or giving up, their resoluteness to go on and build a life for their family.
It goes to deep pride that they fought to make and keep us a Nation. It goes to a deep and immense understanding that they were doing it for us.
That we might be born who we are. That we might remember them. So we do. With love and caring and scribing each fact of their existence, because we are them and they are us.
I tell the story of my family. It is up to that one called in the next generation to answer the call and take their place in the long line of family storytellers.
That, is why I do my family genealogy, and that is what calls those young and old to step up and put flesh on the bones.
"Signs You've Been Spending Way Too Much Time Researching Your Polish Genealogy"  5/26/2007
by Elyssa Kowalinski
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