I can vividly remember the first time I went to a family history center. I went as a teen with my church youth group. I’m sure my leader’s intention was to inspire the young women to do their own family history. The opposite happened for me when we walked into a dimly lit room. The walls were lined with micro fish viewers. The viewers were lined with white haired older women. The room smelt stale and was very quiet. We were told to keep our voices down so the women could concentrate. We weren’t there very long before I started to feel stressed. I couldn’t imagine ever sitting there with the women in front of me looking at pages and pages of boring messy handwritten censuses!
Fast forward to today. Emi likes to find the silver hairs growing on my head when we snuggle. I can see myself looking through hundreds of old censuses just to find one family member of mine. I enjoy seeing different handwriting styles as the times change. I love to see the occupations of the parents and how many children lived in the houses and the ages of everyone there. Genealogy is seeping into my blood and I feel driven to piece the puzzles of my family together. I feel connected to family members who lived and died before I was born. I want to see their names and how they link to mine. I want to find out all I can about each one of them.
Last week I found the WW1 draft registration card for my great grandfather online. It was handwritten and he signed the bottom of the card. I was so excited to see his handwriting! He didn’t get drafted and was married later that same year. It felt wonderful to learn a little about his life. The smallest details are so sweet to me.
My sister, Anna sent me a package full of information about our family on my mom’s side. She said it includes copies of newspaper clippings. I am excited to get the package and feel like a child anticipating Christmas morning!
