Showing posts with label Family History. Show all posts
Showing posts with label Family History. Show all posts

Wednesday, April 21, 2010

When Family Trees Don't Exactly Fork...

These days everyone’s family tree is a little confusing due to the increase in divorce, remarriages, and cohabitation. I wouldn’t want to be a genealogist in one hundred years or so trying to decipher family lines. Activities and projects which revolve around the family unit can mean a teacher is treading into dangerous waters.

A few years ago I thought it would be a really great activity to have a group of language arts students interview family members and obtain the recipes for special dishes that family members always want to have at family gatherings. You know, Aunt Mary’s Creamed Corn, Uncle Jim Bob’s spare rib sauce and so on. We were going to take the two or three recipes from each class member and students were going to write out the recipes and illustrate the pages. All of the pages were going to be bound into one booklet, mass produced, and shared with the entire class.

Sounds like an interesting activity right? Our first experience with history is learning our own family history. I was trying to jump start that a bit and get some conversations going at home.

I only had two kids to bring in recipes. Most never brought anything and I had five parents who wrote nasty notes wanting to know why I was prying into their families or informing me they don’t associate with family members.

Needless to say the subject of family can get a little touchy.

Southerners are always getting dumped on regarding our family trees. I’ll admit it…some family trees down here in the nether regions of the country are confusing.
Hell, some family trees don’t even fork.

I have a confession to make. My maternal tree does fork, however, that sucker is inundated with the thickest, largest kudzu vine you ever did see. (If you don’t know what kudzu is click HERE.)

Many days ago I began thinking about Mom’s family. I hopped into bed with pen and paper and began diagramming all of the connections.

Hubby groaned. “Oh no, you’re not going to write about that, are you?”

“Now, now,” I soothed. “It’s not like Granma and Granpa were actually related.”

“Wasn’t your grandmother your grandfather’s wife and aunt at the same time?” Hubby asked.

“Well,……yeah. Technically,” I answered.

“Wasn’t your mother’s father also her grand uncle?”

Gee, I was amazed Hubby remembered all of this. “Yeah,” I answered, but….”

Hubby continued as if he was the District Attorney grilling me on the stand, “Wasn’t your grandmother’s father-in-law also her brother-in-law?”

As my family pride began to sag a bit I said, “Yes, that’s all true, but you’re making it sound like we all have three heads, one eye in the middle of our foreheads, and we’re cross-eyed to boot.”

Hubby raised his hand to shush me, “Wait,” he said, “I’m on a roll.” He peered over at my diagram and examined it for a minute.

Finally he said, “Your great-grandfather was also your great grand uncle.” He lay back on the pillow smiling and all full of himself.

“Hmmmmmm….Is there such a thing?” I countered. “Is there a distinction of grand uncle? But yes, I guess if you want to go that far you could say that my great grandfather was also my great grand uncle.”

I was getting exasperated at this point as I said, “Look, what’s your point? It’s my family tree. I thought I would share this information to introduce the topic of overlapping presidential administrations for a post over at American Presidents.”

“Oh. Well….Never mind then. That might be an interesting way to approach it.”

And it just might be an interesting way to approach the subject, but first see if you can untangle my family’s kudzu vine. I’ve even posted my family connections in green to make it easier for you to see all the twists and turns.

These family connections, as suspect as they may be, are all true. We are not deformed, and no laws have been broken so how about it?

Give my puzzle a whirl…

What makes these family connections completely innocent?

Give up? Well, the answer can be found at the original article from 2006 titled A Conundrum For You.

Check out the comments at the end of the article for the exact answer.

Tuesday, February 02, 2010

Listen My Children....

While most of my students learn history in a school setting from educators like myself, we cannot emphasize family history enough.

It IS important.

Family history helps students to realize their place within their families as well as how they fit in with historical events. Learning family history can answer questions regarding when relatives first arrived in North America and where they settled. Details regarding everyday life can be internalized, and the effects of certain events can help us connect to events we didn’t live through such as the Great Depression or World War II.

While there are many ways to go about learning family history one of the best ways to go about it is merely to listen……listen to those older members of your family. I don’t mean merely nodding your head at them, smile, and wonder when you can escape them. I mean really listen….and that means to listen with a purpose so that real communication takes place.

StoryCorps provides a fantastic opportunity for generations from the same family to communicate regarding family history. Their main goal is to honor and celebrate one another’s lives through listening.

Find out more about the fantastic work StoryCorps is doing over at my other place…….Georgia on My Mind.

Thursday, April 16, 2009

The Gift

Back during another lifetime in the 1970s you would have found me on Friday night sitting in front of our family television….the one where the knob had fallen off and we had to resort to using needle-nosed pliers to change it…patiently waiting for my favorite television show to air. There I was – gazing up at the screen – watching a parade of commercials and happily munching on taco-flavored Doritos – then I would hear the theme song I can sing to this day and even if you won’t admit it, you can as well.

Here’s the story…of a lovely lady…who was bringing up three very lovely girls…All of them had hair of gold like their mother’s…the youngest one in curls.

Here’s the story…of a man named Brady…who was busy with three boys of his own…They were four men…living all together…yes, they were all alone.

I loved the Brady Bunch. They were different. They were not a cookie-cutter version of my very average family. Not everyone was related by blood, not everyone got along all the time, but there was a lot of love and acceptance. Take two families with former tragedy and throw in a dash of Alice and presto! An Instant American family I would have loved to be a part of.

Look around your classroom or neighborhood. We have more families with steps and halves and live-ins than ever before, and if you are like me you have often side-stepped an important facet of American History….our family history.

It’s easy to ignore these days, isn’t it?

We have students who have their fair share of tragedy….parents on drugs, in jail, molestations, mental illness, a different uncle in the house every week or so, physical violence…a plethora of mixed families that make the Brady Bunch-type family impossible to achieve, so I can understand why educators might be leery of asking children to examine their families, to answer the question why their families are important, and to decide how their family fits into the American quilt even with all the baggage that sometimes accompanies family life these days.

But, how can we ask students to connect to a bunch of folks discussed in the study of history that they’ve never heard of and will never meet unless they can connect to how they fit in….how their family fits into our society no matter the baggage and no matter the circumstances?

A brand new book has dropped into my lap that I think would serve as a great reminder that families come in all shapes and forms. A family doesn’t necessary have to be a group of people all related by biology….they have to have things in common and those things bind us together in love.

The book I’m talking about is called The Gift. Its author and illustrator, Karen Craft, just happens to be my dear sister. In The Gift she tells the true story of Baby Boy who came to live with a family who wanted a little boy very much. The book covers numerous themes from family love, overcoming tragedy, and even an honest look at what makes the concept of family what it is and to be more precise what makes the concept of a mother….a mother.

As the first page of the book states, “A Mama isn’t just someone that gives birth to you. She’s someone that sits with you when you’re sick, and doesn’t mind. She’s the one who bakes you cookies late into the night, when you forgot to tell her earlier. She will clap louder than anyone at your piano recital. She reads your favorite book to you over and over. And over. She really listens to you when you need to talk and when you’re scared she makes you feel safe. She teaches you to be polite and chew with your mouth closed. She’s the last person you see when she kisses you good night, and the first person you want to see in the morning. You know in your heart that she’s your Mother, you Mom, your Mama. She’s your gift and you are hers. Sometimes biology just isn’t so important after all.”

The Gift is a great book to open the door to discuss adoption with students of all ages, to discuss blended families, to discuss losing a family member, and to discuss how non-family members….our friends and neighbors….are important parts of our families as well.

Children will love the story details regarding Da, Mama, Sister Dear, and Baby Girl. The story even has its own version of Alice in the guise of Nanni-K who in reality happens to be my dear niece.

It is a great resource for your classroom library, a media center, or a home library. Students, young and old, will love The Gift as a read aloud as they make Mother’s Day cards and presents, and the book lends itself well to small group reading activities for older students.

Karen Craft’s illustrations are brought to life even in more exact detail by artist Meghan Branscomb from Mornin’ Glory Studios. As you can see from the story illustrations I’ve scattered through this post they are exceptional and make the story even more entertaining. I’m already thinking about making a few slides of the illustrations in enlarged detail to show to students as the book is read.

It’s a great book to purchase for your child or another child you know. With Mother’s Day around the corner it is also a perfect gift for your mother, mothers you know young and old, and even those motherly-types you have in your life. I have a few of those….and I know you do too.

Visit Karen Craft's website, Just Sharing a Story , to purchase your copy of The Gift.

Wednesday, February 27, 2008

...and Another Year Makes Fifteen!

It’s hard to believe Dear Daughter is fifteen today. It seems like it was just yesterday when I wrote her birthday post last year, and now it’s time to do it again.

Of course, she’s not the only person born on this date. She shares her birthday with Chelsea Clinton, Ralph Nadar, and acrress Joanne Woodward. Dear Daughter also shares her special day with Elizabeth Taylor, Marian Anderson, and Henry Wadsworth Longfellow, and don’t forget John Steinbeck.

A short-list of historical events for February 27th include:

*The 15th recorded perihelion passage of Halley’s Comet in 837
*Henry IV was crowned King of France in 1594
*The first Mardi Gras was celebrated in Mobile, Alabama in 1703
*Washington D.C. was placed under the jurisdiction of the U.S. Congress in 1801
*Warsaw Massacre Russians fired on a crowd demonstrating against Russian rule of Poland in 1861
*John Menard was the first black man to make a speech in Congress in 1869
*A challenge (Leser v. Garnett) was made to the 19th amendment (allowing women to vote) was rebuffed by the Supreme Court of the United States.
*U.S. troops landed on Iwo Jima in 1945
*The government of Italy asked for help to keep the Leaning Tower of Pisa from falling over.
*Supporters of the American Indian Movement began their occupation of Wounded Knee, South Dakota, site of the 1890 Sioux massacre in 1973
*Terrorists occupy the Dominican embassy in Bogota in 1980
*Divorce became legal in Ireland in 1997.

Finally, what’s a birthday without knowing what the cover of Time Magazine looked like during the week of your birth? Here it is for February 27, 1993:

Happy Birthday Dear Daughter! Your father and I continue to love and support you in anything you choose to do. We marvel at your devotion to the Lord, your tenacity to do things on your own, and your depth of creativity!

Have a great, great day!

Monday, November 05, 2007

My, Where Does the TIme Go?

Today is my sister's birthday. I've written about her before, but I wanted to acknowledge her special day today.

Time has a way of marching on whether we want it to or not.

We cannot go back in time except through our memories. We cannot stop time even though Saturday morning cartoons and movies sometimes told us we could. One thing that we can do with time is capture it in images. These pictures are small snippets of time in my sister's life depicting her relationship with our father. The photographs show changes of time...not only in how Dear Sister has grown and matured over the years, but how Dear Daddy has grown from a young married father to a grandfather who has this uncanny knack of "always being correct in ALL matters." :)
I thought these two pictures were interesting. In the first image Dear Sister is still new at getting around on her own. She's enjoying some "prime Daddy time" sitting up high. In the second image Dear Sister is standing tall on her own, but notice....she's got an arm around her. That Daddy support is still there at the ready. Arms around the shoulder, quick hugs....those are the support actions that speak volumes over time as they are repeated over and over.
As time marches on these pictures become more and more precious to us all.
Happy Birthday, Karen. I love you very much! I hope you have a wonderful day.

Monday, July 02, 2007

Family History

There are many things that prompt a family history project—a school assignment, a desire to see if you are related to anyone famous or infamous as the case may be, and simply wanting to know your family roots. Perhaps you want to know where your family first settled in the United States or maybe you want to be sure about the country your family originated from. Perhaps you simply want to identify the first one in a long line of folks similar to you.

My father began his quest in 1985 after the birth of Dear Son. My parents made the trek from Canton, Georgia to Virginia Beach, Virginia to see their newest grandchild and stayed a few days. While Papa Buddy, as his grandchildren call him, was thrilled to hold the newest member of our family he was distracted a bit by a local Virginia Beach attraction called The Francis Land House (pictured here).

I had already wondered if Francis Land could be an ancestor as I passed by the home weekly going here and there. We discussed how the family line of Francis Land would probably have been researched already all the way back to relations in England. If we could get our line back far enough perhaps we could find the link that would connect the two families.

Papa Buddy made sure he visited the property before heading home, and once back in Georgia he became more than interested in his family line. He made sure he let the docents at the Francis Land House know that he was a Land, and my mother stated he was treated really well while there. Today my father has a lovely picture of the home framed along with a nice handwritten note from the director of the property hanging in his home. Through his research we discovered that Charles Lindburgh was part of a Land family branch on his mother’s side, and we found this interesting person as well.

Today because of my father’s hardwork we know for certain who is who from my children back eight generations. I can say with certainty that I know the name of the sixth great-grandfather of my children dating to the birth of Isaac Land, Sr. in 1750. Fortunately a relative has posted the line including some of the other sibling lines as well. Unfortunately it was at the year 1750 that my father reached a brick wall in the paper trail which so often defeats a family researcher.

My earliest known relative, Isaac Land, Sr., is in the militia records and they indicate he fought during the fall of Charleston because in 1785 he collected his pension. His son was named Jeremiah and his wife, Catherine, was born in Fannin County, Georgia. I know that my family was in a group of many settlers that began to move from North Carolina over the mountains into Tennessee and later Georgia. The first relative that did this was Isaac Land, Jr. He’s buried in Pickens County, Georgia and I have been to his grave. He was minister of the gospel for sixty years. It is at this point that my part of the Land family finally settled in and around Cherokee County where my father lives today.

The question remained, however, who came before Isaac, Sr.?

Many family groups are bridging the paper gap in family lines by using DNA testing. When paper proof cannot be located DNA can at least provide information that one group is related to another. Will we ever find a missing link that joins our family group to the group for Francis Land? I don’t know, but I do know that through the process you do find out little details you wouldn’t have known earlier. This is the webpage announcing the details for a DNA project with several Land family lines, and this is the page that proclaims:

We now have results from eleven (11) previously unrelated participants that indicate that they are related to a common Land ancestor. These results show that James Land, NC, 1793; Joseph Land, VA, 1724; William Land, SC, 1795; Jacob Land,1809, SC; Isaac Land, NC, 1750 (my relative); Thomas James Land c. 1727-1734 VA; and Samuel Land, Delaware are all from the same family!

Now we just need to figure out how!

Occasionally as I do a new search under the family name I discover pictures of relatives others have posted. At this link I discovered a great uncle many times removed in the first picture. In the fifth set of pictures my great grandfather is featured with a great uncle and his son and grandson, and in the final photo I discovered a family grouping of my great grandparents and all of their children taken at the homeplace that used to be on my father’s property. My father has the same photo. My great-grandparents are sitting on the second row in the middle and along the bench with them are their children. My grandfather is on the left at the very end with my grandmother standing immediately behind her. Their daughter Rachel is next to her while the other daughter, Ruth is on the row with only four girls. She is the first one on the left. The note with this picture indicates it was taken in 1927, so it was two years before my father was born.

This post was actually prompted by Dr. Blaine Bettinger at The Genetic Genealogist who posted his own thoughts about the genetics of the blogging meme, The Thinking Blogger.

When I discovered Dr. Bettinger had linked to me I clicked over and read his post. As I read it I couldn’t help but think about my father’s family line. Once we go two steps away from my grandfather, our family, like many others, have no pictures, no letters, and no journals to indicate to us who these names on our family tree represent. These ancestors while they are very important to my family are merely inked names in dusty record books across time. We will never know what they actually looked like or sounded like. I know that certain members of my family fought in the Revolution, in the War of 1812, and in the Civil War. We have papers that track their movements, but I don’t know why they fought or how they felt about their service.

I was able to reach across the Internet last week and introduce myself to Dr. Bettinger as his blog meme great-grandmother many times over. Unfortunately my oldest ancestors cannot do that except by exisiting as a name on a list.

The optimist in me, however, would like to think that nine generations or so in the future as another member of the Land family may be searching for relatives they will find more than simply names and certificates in heavy books. They will be able to locate weblogs like this one, websites, and MySpace pages of relatives and discover much more behind a name with a simply click of a mouse.

Wednesday, March 14, 2007

The Shopping Trip...A Guest Post

Mother put this story to paper in May, 2003. Two months later she would take a severe turn and would enter a nursing home. While my sister and I had heard numerous stories of Mother’s days growing up in Canton, Georgia this is a particular story I had not heard before and kept it in a special place. I knew that I wanted to share it with Mother’s family at some point.

I really don’t know how I did it but I managed to read it aloud at Mother’s funeral. All of her sister/aunts were there except for Aunt Dee, the oldest. She had paved the way for Mother and had already arrived in Heaven.

The picture I have here is one of the last times Mom was able to be with all of the sisters Mom is in the red shirt, and right next to her is Aunt Dee. Aunt Nelle is next learning down, and in the back is Aunt Blanche while Aunt Claudine is wearing the pink jacket. The gentleman is their cousin.

Mother’s family is a classic southern family in that things are little mixed up....the result of a father and son marrying half-sisters. So, the aunts were really aunts but they were more my mother’s age than my grandfather’s. While Mom was very young they were aunts and as she got older she referred to them as sisters. They were all very special to Mother and they are very special to Dear Sister and I as well.

Today is Mother’s birthday. It is very hard not to have her here to celebrate with. Publishing her story here at History Is Elementary is the best I can do to fully remember her wonderful ability to share her memories. Here is my Mother’s story in her words:

The Shopping Trip

The same four aunts who had entertained me as a small child when I ‘d visit their home we all lovingly called “The Homeplace” were now all entertaining me once again, but in a different way. Once a year they all four went into the city of Atlanta to shop, and they had invited me to go with them.

How well I remember not being able to get enough sleep the night before and spending my money a jillion times----just hoping I’d have enough for all the ‘treasures’ I hoped to find. After a big breakfast, we’d all stand down on the main road waiting for the big “Smokey Mountain Trailways” bus we all rode so much since we didn’t have a car. My heart was beating a mile a minute as we saw Mr. Honney, the bus driver, coming around the curve and down to where we were waiting. Finally, he stopped, and we filed onto the bus one at a time, each of us giving Mr Honney a “Good Morning!” and a “How ya’ doing?” since he seemed like family to us.
We went on back to our seats that were covered in a velvet-like material all in red. I made sure I got by the window so I could see the old four-lane highway rolling by us as we went south towards Atlanta. The traffic was nothing like it is today some seventy years later.

Finally, we pulled into the bus station, home to many different buses with different places to go. We went inside the building where the waiting areas were and where we could borrow their bathrooms before starting our journey up Peachtree Street where all the best shops and shoe stores were located. My Aunt Dee, my oldest aunt, would always lean down and softly say to me, “Don’t sit down, and be sure to wash your hands when you finish.” Then she would drop a dime into the slot and the stall door would open.

When walking through the waiting area to get back outside we saw mamas and daddies and lots of soldier boys all seated on wooden benches and scattered all over the place. Some seemed to be on their way home and some probably going to God knows where. Everyone seemed on schedule as the loud speaker would say something and groups here and there would begin to move.

The aunts hurried me outside and we crossed first one street and then another before getting on the right side where there was a cement walkway all the way down in front of all these different shops. The blouse shop was a favorite, and so were a couple of shoe stores including Butlers and Bakers. It was at Bakers that I chose a pair of brown loafers with a space under the tongue up front where you put a shiney copper penney for decoration as my first purchase of the day. From there we continued walking happily down the street.

Aunt Dee found the long black coat she hoped she would and got it at a nice dress and coat shop. By now Aunt Blanche had found a real pretty green dress, and like me Aunt Nelle had bought shoes, BUT Aunt Claudine hadn’t found her treasure yet. The day was young, however, and she was bound to find it later.

By now everyone was beginning to get hungry so we took a vote and decided to eat at the five and ten cent store called Woolworths where they had a really nice place to eat. Later we could browse around the store and look for more treasures. The five of us would almost fall into the booth with all of our purchases, leaving them all in on booth, and us sitting together in the next one, with somebody at the end and seated in a chair.

We often ordered their really good chicken and dressing that came with mashed potatoes and gravy, green beans, cranberry sauce, a big, fat yeast roll with butter, and the best sweetened ice tea with a wedge of lemon stuck on the glass, OR we would order the big hamburger with all the trimmings like lettuce, tomato, and onion with a big handful of potato chips and pickle on the side. Forget about dessert…we’d have no room, but later on we might stop on the way back for an ice cream half-way up the street at a little honest-to-goodness little ice cream shop with tables covered with red and white checkered tablecloths and painted white chairs. The only problem was making up our minds regarding the flavor we wanted because there were several available. I always settled for choclate while Aunt Dee usually chose peach. Blanch, Claudine and Nelle always chose strawberry which looked quite tasty too.

Before we left Woolworths we always looked around for a bargain and I would always give the post card rack a turn or two. I’d stop at one of a pretty Atlanta mansion with different flowers out front, and choose one for Mama. Since Daddy was a big fan of the Atlanta Crackers, I would get him a card with a baseball player on the front.

I enjoyed reading comic books and for a dime I picked up an issue of Archie with a picture of him and his girlfriend, Veronica, on the front. I usually picked up the latest issue of Andy ( the Panda) too.

Walking back up the street we shopped some more and revisited a shop where I had picked out a baby blue sweater set earlier, and here Aunt Claudine finally found her treasure. She bought a pretty solid green slip-over with a floral sweater to match. Later my mom said I had made a wise choice with my sweater purchase and I wore it many times. Aunt Claudine wore hers as well.

We were all so tired out when we finally got back to the bus station and boarded the big old bus. We’d be very quiet all the way back up the old four-lane that led us out of Atlanta, through Canton, and to the outskirts of town. We all usually went to sleep just about the whole way home.

All those shopping trips with my aunts were so much fun, and gave me a lifetime filled with precious memories with them treating me like the little sister back then, and they still do, but I tell them I am catching up and in a hurry since I am now 70.

My life has been so blessed and filled with so much love from these ‘young’ ladies.

My cup does runneth over.

Tuesday, March 13, 2007

Mother's Chronicles

Yesterday, I shared with you my sister’s tribute to our mother where she advises that Mother chronicled much of our lives in spiral notesbooks and on calendars. I wanted to share this with you a little and to document the precious treasure she left our families. You see, Mom didn’t just write down every deal of my life and my sister. She also added in our husbands when they came along and of course she recorded every minute she spent with our children.

Here is one entry regarding my son and his 7th birthday.

August 21, 1992 7 years old $38.87 (the amount Mom spent for his birthday)
Found a cute puppy dog card. Blank inside. Front had three cute puppies on it and inside I wrote “You are so special to me and I love you so much.” I put a $5 bill inside card…mailed it before his birthday, so he would get it before the 21st.

Got him a pair of jeans, Rustler “Wrangler” brand from K-Mart size 10 regular-----and a Bugle Boy shirt from Belk in a royal blue color with different Bugle Boy “sayings” on front of shirt----short sleeves

Also at K-Mart…found him a remote big wheel truck on sale! Battery toy truck with big wheels and a hand held remote to press buttons to make truck go forward, reverse and turns, and lights on front that come on.

The reason why Mother always recorded how much she spent was she was a stickler on being equal and fair. If she spent thirty-eight dollars on one she would make sure she spent the same amount on the other kids. It was maddening for all of us but it was so totally Mother.

Her notes when on to say:

Hadn’t got K. (Dear Sister’s daughter) nothing in real long time, so I found her a little denim draw-string purse. It was light blue with a row of eyelet trim around the bottom, and four satin flower buds ( 2 orchid/2 pink).

Mother continues:

M. (my son) will start to school August 24. K. will go into the third grade while M. will start the second grade. God willing M. will have a little brother or sister this time next year! (I was pregnant with Dear Daughter)

A folded piece of paper in this same birthday journal tells me that on Mother’s Day, 1993 we had the following meal at Mother's-----

MeatLoaf, Mashed Potatoes, Butter Peas, Steamed Squash with carrotts and onions, orange congealed salad with fruit, Corn Bread squares, hot homemade biscuits, sliced tomatoes, cucumbers, and radishes and finally, Sour Cream Poundcake. Mother also included a note that it was my daughter’s first Mother’s Day with us.

In an entry for July 11, 1993, Dear Husband’s birthday Mother included this bit of information that I should have in a baby book for Dear Daughter, but don’t……

R. is growing. She can flip over from her stomach to her back. She coos and smiles and was so good.

And not to leave out my son Mother added:

M. got in the pool and showed me how well he swims----I’m so thankful he can.

Yes, sad times are detailed as well:

Christmas, 1987
Such a sad and mixed up time!
I was sick. Sooooooo sick. Mentally as well as physically.
Yes, it was a crazy mixed up time.
Mother always worried about others and never wanted to be burden to anyone. Her writing dwindled while she was in the nursing home, however, every now and then it would rally. In the last spiral notebook she had written a letter that was never mailed......I'll stop this post by providing the ending to her letter. It's a fitting way to end this post with the last lines Mother ever wrote:
I had better stop for now.
I love you and may God bless you.

Monday, March 12, 2007

A Most Excellent Remembrance of Mother

My mother’s birthday will be Wednesday. As some of you may know she left us very quietly on July 15th. Many of you have been kind as I’ve used this site to post many personal memories of her. I know that you will understand as I devote the next three days to remembering her and letting you know a little bit more about someone who influenced my life so much. The picture featured here is Mother with Dear Sister's daughter.

The following piece of writing was written by my sister at the time our mother passed way. This piece was read at Mother’s funeral by my pastor. Dear Sister sent it to me in advance before the funeral. After I read it for the first time I explained to Dear Sister that I rarely award a student with a high A in writing because writing is never finished. A piece of writing can always be corrected…altered…revised in some way. It can always be improved. However, Dear Sister captured the essence of who our Mother was so intently that I told her I would give it my highest accolade…a well deserved “MOST EXCELLENT” and a numerical one hundred. Here are Dear Sister’s words….

If Mother was anything, she was CARING. She CARED about everything, and most things too much. She cared about family and friends, and stray animals, and strangers in need, and people in the news.

She never forgot to send you a card, or telephone to let people know she remembered their special occaision. If you were sick or experiencing a hospital stay you could count on a card from Geri. She was forever finding things in magazines or the paper that she thought you might need or find interesting. She took care in cutting it out, writing a note on it and mailing it to us.

She loved to cook. She loved to write. She would sit at the kitchen table for hours on end and write letters and stories. Mother had written down every memory growing up around Mt. Carmel and Canton. She had penpals and loved to swap information on their different lifestyles and countries. She had friends…real friends. They took each other to lunch on their birthday. Mother’s favorite place was the Picadilly at Greenbriar Mall. A stuffed green pepper and a piece of pie and she was happy.

She was an organizational icon. As far back as I can remember, she provided you with something you needed to know. Family and friends anniversaries, births and deaths, graduations, when someone called her and when she returned the call (and what time), whether it rained or the sun was shining on a particular day…..everything went on Mother’s calendars and in her spiral notebooks. And just for a point of reference----today if we needed to know what our family had for dinner on Wednesday, June 4, 1968---just check the calendar. It’ll be there…and you’ll find it because she saved each and every calendar and notebook. [Elementaryhistoryteacher] and I have snapshots of our life history detailed in these calendars and notebooks.

Was Mother a packrat? She said no, she was a gatherer of treasures. Every kindness, every gesture, every gift and momento was saved. And true to her organizational icon standard, you know it was tagged with who the sender was, the occaision, AND the date. Laundry markers were purchased regularly at our house growing up.

Mother wasn’t a rich person. She wasn’t a materialistic person, but she was one of the wealthiest women I knew. She was wealthy in the sense that she had all she required to live a wonderful life. She thought herself so blessed to have the family and friends she had.
What she never really realized is how blessed we were to have her touch our lives.

You can read about my thoughts on family bibles and all about Mother's Bible here.

Tomorrow I’m going to share with you a few pages from one of those spiral notebooks, and on Wednesday, Mother’s actual birthday, I will be presenting one of HER stories here for you to enjoy.

Tuesday, February 27, 2007

Happy Fourteenth!

On this day in 1993 the Lord blessed my husband and I with a baby girl.

There never was a child who moved as much as Dear Daughter while their mother carried them. She moved constantly. She turned, she punched, and she stretched. She MOVED all the time. She wanted out and by the time her birth finally occurred I wanted her out too.

Her movement didn’t stop at birth either. She moved constantly flinging her arms, being vocal, and her legs moved all the time too. It was chore just to dress her. You would get one arm in and while you worked on the other she would work a leg loose. Patience….I guess that was the lesson I was to learn with Dear Daughter. I’m still working on it, but I have learned to let her BE sometimes.

She began to stand early and would hold to to her playpen and squawk at us as we went about our daily activities. As she began to take her first steps she was so independent… if you attempted to put your hands on her to steady her she would turn red in the face and scream at you like you had injured here in some way. Her first sentence was, “I dood it MYSELF!”

Sleep? The kid never slept. Her Dad and I still wonder about vampire tendencies because she appears to need no sleep. As a toddler we tried an organized bedtime, but she’d be up in no time playing or going about her little business of tearing the room apart, and I’d end up close to having a heart attack I’d be so upset with her. I finally gave up, put up a baby-gate, told her goodnight, turned up the baby monitor, and went to bed. In her own time, in her own way she would eventually crawl up in the bed and go to sleep.

I guess you could say she is a lot like me in many ways. That’s why she can infuriate me and amaze me at the same time, I guess. However, unlike me at fourteen she chooses a path and doesn’t let her peers influence her. She has her own mind and she uses it. I admire that most about her.

Back in pre-school she came home one day so upset. It seems the class had been discussing their birthdays and where everyone was born. When Dear Daughter told her classmates many did not believe her. The teacher had a problem believing her too. The reason…..Dear Daughter was born at home. Yes, it was planned. Yes, it is what I wanted, and yes, it was an incredible, wonderful experience. Dear Daughter was born early on a Saturday morning around 1 a.m. I got up, took a shower, and put on my pre-pregnant jeans and off to the hospital we went. The midwives who assisted us wanted me to be checked just in case. By Tuesday of the next week I was back on a normal scheduled including going to the grocery story and I even vacuumed a floor. Homebirth is not for everyone, but it was for me.

Dear Daughter walks by the spot where she entered the world several times a day. I did end up getting with her teacher and letting her know that Dear Daughter was not confused about being born at home. Later when she reached elementary school there was no confusion as I was the PTA president at the time of her birth. The principal at the time had been at the school simply forever and it was a very nice loving community of students, parents, and teachers. After Dear Daughter awas born Mr. M. would simply grab her up everytime I entered the building and would go on “walkabout” with her to show her off. Later on as she was a toddler I would be busy speaking with the school secretary or a teacher about a PTA matter and Dear Daughter would sneak off. I would find her on the floor of the principal’s office playing with blocks, in the media center moving the books around, and there was one particular fifth grade classroom where she had her own corner and would walk in without saying a word, sit at her desk, and get busy with the business of learning. She was the school mascot. Once she actually entered the school as a student we all had to work together to get her to understand she no longer had free reign over the entire building.

As a toddler Dear Daughter was my assistant as I owned my own business doing legal research. She would go around with me to various courhouses in the Atlanta area where we would look up this and that. She was pretty good, but she always wanted to know when we would break for lunch.

One of Dear Daughter’s greatest assets is she is a great friend….not just to kids her own age but she has friends of all ages including many of the elderly at our church. We generally have to wait an extra 20 minutes for Dear Daughter to go around hug people. I’m glad she is comfortable with people other than her contempories and she seems to understand that these people love her and are there for her if she needs their guidance.

Tonight we will take Dear Daughter out for dinner and celebrate her special day. This year we are bringing along a special friend….yes, a boy. They’ve known each other since they were five, met at church, and have a great friendship. While we will have great conversation and great food one thing that will probably be missing from our birthday celebration is the “Happy Birthday Song”. You see….we were never able to sing it to Dear Daughter. She would get mad, red and in the face, squall, scream, and just get plumb ugly about it. She was the same way about Santa Claus as well. I have pictures of several years of Santa with Dear Son, but NONE of Dear Daughter.

Well, like I said she does make her own independent way in the world.

Dear Daughter... Dad and I love you very much and wish you a very happy birthday!

Saturday, February 10, 2007

A Man Who Garners Respect

Happy birthday to my dear father who is 78 today.

I don’t think I’ve ever met anyone who has every said a negative thing about my father. People may not have agreed with him for one reason or another, but I have never known anyone who didn’t respect him.

For years he was a manager for a lumber company and had many employees and many different customers from the construction industry. I hung out around Dad’s business as a child and picked up early on that my dad was a respected man who demanded excellence and fairness from everyone around him because he believed in giving those same things himself.

Recently when Dad was in the hospital I spoke with many of his friends who came by to check on him and it was evident how they hold my father in high esteem.

Dad taught his two daughters many interesting things. I appreciate each and every one of them. I know how to paint a room, install insulation, run wire to a circuit box, apply tape and mud to a sheetrock wall, and check my own oil. I can plant and hoe a garden. I know how to walk behind a homemade sled and pick up potatoes as they rise to the surface of the rich red earth.

I can operate a tractor, a riding lawn mower, and a golf cart (complete with a brick so I can accelerate evenly). I can can and freeze any type of vegetable you can think of. I can read a map, navigate all 40 plus versions of Atlanta’s Peachtree Street, and I have a fairly keen sense of direction thanks to Dad’s driving instruction.

I adore Dad’s sweet side. He always took up for his daughters even while acknowledging our faults. During her highschool years Dear Sister was accused of calling her Spanish teacher a bitch. Dear Dad was called to school to meet with the teacher. He assured the teacher he would take care of the matter and that Dear Sister would offer up an apology. He made sure Dear Sister made good on the apology, but he also admitted to her that after meeting the teacher that she was a bitch. I knew of the teacher years later and would have to say Dear Sister and Dad were right.

Growing up Dad had some colorful pet names for us that I won’t repeat here. Thought we acted as if they bothered us secretively we enjoyed the way the names made us special in Dad’s eyes.

I appreciate the fact that Dear Sister and I could not date until we were sixteen. We didn’t miss out on much now that I look back on it.

My father is a thoughtful, careful thinker. I can remember a few times when it seemed like Dad was doing something on a lark, but generally you found out on down through the road of time that he had had a plan all along. You never really know what the plan is, but one thing is for sure….Dad always has long range plans for everything. While Dear Sister seems to have taken after Dad I tend to be the more impulsive and compulsive one.

My father is firm in his convictions and people know what they are. If he thinks you’re wrong he’ll tell you so and why. He’s never one to shy away from a discussion. I am in awe of that. I just want everyone to make nice and get along.

I think it would be honest to say that I have a certain amount of fear where my father is concerned. I believe that a certain amount of fear is a good thing between a child and parent. I’m not talking about the kind of fear you feel because you think you’re going to get beaten or verbally abused. I’m referring to the kind of fear that makes a person want to achieve, the type of fear that motivates someone to strive to be the best they can be, a strange type of love that at times grips you so hard with fear that you can’t help but do the right thing and yet it provides security. It becomes ingrained to the point that you have no choice to do anything else. My father is capable of instilling that type of fear in his children, their spouses, grandchildren, and a myriad bunch of neices and nephews. You can’t be in my father’s life and not at one time or another say to yourself, “What would he do or say in this situation? What would he tell me to do?”

In the community where we grew up Dad knew many, many people. He was always telling us when would would leave house, “Now you do the right thing, because I’m peeking around the corner.” He meant it because if we did anything he would know it from somone. We also heard, “I’ll whip you even if you’re 49 years old.” Well Dear Sister no longer has to worry about that, but I still have five more years to go!

Many years ago Dad had a young teenage employee who decided to squeal his tires in the parking lot. All the young guys thought this was great fun until they notice Dad crossing the parking lot with a rake. He motioned the young squealing tire guy out of car, handed him the rake, and walked off without a word. The young man meekly got out of the car and replaced every piece of gravel where Dad had it. It wouldn’t have even occurred to the young man to argue with Dad about it…..he instilled fear.

I used to go on little outings with Dad to different places. I remember being at a mechanic shop one time where a group of young men were acting their age…they were laughing and throwing around some colorful language. I still remember the sharpness in my Dad’s voice as he reminded the young men that his daughter was present and they needed to watch their words. That action made me feel so loved and protected.

I believe one of the best ways to get respect is to show it. I came to this conclusion early on as I watched my father interact with his father, step-mother, grandmother, and other aging relatives. Dad spent the first half of his retired life taking care of aging relatives. Dear Sister and I got a taste of what he went through when our mother was in a nursing home as we took turns. Dad didn’t have anyone to take turns with and he went every day….sometimes twice a day while his father was still alive. Later, he and my step-mother repeated the process with his aging aunt who had no children. My father endured this process of daily visits for years with a fortitude that I don’t’ think I could muster. I admire him so much for modeling for my sister and I what it means to respect your elders.

Finally, I’ll end Dad’s birthday tribute on a humorous note….As I’ve stated before I don’t know anyone who doesn’t have high regard and respect for my father….any human that is. You see many years ago soon after Dear Sister was married she and her husband acquired a sweet little dog. Nikki was part Pomeranian and part Poodle. He was little, cute, and cocked his head so sweetly. He was my sister’s baby for years until Dear Niece was born. Nikki, the dog. received Christmas presents and my mother referred to him as the Granddog. One evening my father and the dog were in our driveway. I watched dumbstuck as the sweet little granddog trotted over to Dad and politely hiked his leg and peed all over my father’s shoes.

I heard Dad quitely say, “Damn.” Dad always knows the right thing to say!

Happy birthday Daddy. I love you!

Saturday, November 11, 2006

Timberwolf Up! My Salute to the Veterans of the 104th and a Very Special Uncle

This post is probably my longest yet. Yes, I know…..many of my posts are rather wordy. I even thought about cutting this one down a bit or even making it two posts instead of one. I decided I wouldn’t. To delete any part of it would be a disservice to the men of the 104th and to my Uncle Robert. I don’t think Uncle Robert’s story can be told without without sharing details about the Timberwolves and their brave contribution to our victory over the Nazis.

I remember my Uncle Robert as a quiet, sweet soul. For many years I spent at least one week….sometimes two…. every year at his house. I remember a regimented man who maintained a schedule of getting up, going to work, dinner, a little television, his Bible, and then off to bed. I never heard him raise his voice even though I know he was a firm yet loving disciplinarian with his children. There was just something about Uncle Robert that made you want to please him. You never wanted to let him down by allowing him see you talk in church or by doing anything else you knew he would disapprove of. I remember early on summer mornings I would wake up in his home and lay there and listen as I heard the hushed tones of Uncle Robert and Aunt Claudine while they shared a quick breakfast together before he was off to work. Their private time together made me feel safe and secure.

As I was growing up I knew he was in the Army during World War II but until the last few years I didn’t know to what extent he served. Through his children I learned as I was growing up a little about Uncle Robert’s service. He made sure his children knew that World War II was necessary and that soldiers had fought to keep America free. He told them interesting stories about the war and his participation in it. Some of the stories were good, many were sad, but all were heroic.

The West family sent four sons off to war at the same time though their paths never crossed while they were in Europe. Uncle Robert was a Staff Sergeant in G Company, 104th Division, 414th Infantry, of the United States Army that landed in Cherbourg, France on September 7, 1944. They were the first American division to arrive on French soil without having first stopped in England. The 104th travelled to Europe via the USS Lejeune, the USS George Washington, the SS Ocean Mail, and the USAT Cristobal.

Once on European shores it is possible Uncle Robert along with other members of the 104th participated in the ‘Red Ball Express’, a circular 24-hour-a-day truck supply route from the invasion beaches to the front which had been in operation for some time before their arrival. My research indicates the 104th filled a support role for a few days before taking up defensive positions in the vicinity of Wuustwezel, Belguim on October 23, 1944.

The 104th was to relieve the British 49th Division and join the First British Corps, First Canadian Army. They were the first regiment of the American Army to relieve an allied unit on the Western Front, as well as the first American Regiment to fight under the control of an Allied Army.

Fellow soldier, Bob Bilinsky recollects that “G Company moved onto a dirt lane and then into an open area which seemed to stretch forever towards what we assumed to be the German positions.” As the Scottish soldiers they were to replace hopped happily out of their foxholes the soldiers of G Company were to take their place. Bilinsky recounts many of the Americans were “amazed at the complete disdain [the Scotts] seemed to have for the fact they presented an easy target for Germans gunfire! Suddenly it happened! The silence was shattered! Not by gunfire but by the loud strains of the Scottish bagpiper as the unit marched away in a swaying but perfect cadence to the pulsating beat of the music.” Bilinsky advised that “more than a few of us smiled” and “perhaps members of G Company owe that bagpiper a ‘Thank You’ for helping [them] lose just a little of the nervous edge [they] had built up on [their] first assignment for front line duty.” I can just imagine how my uncle (a mere country boy from the North Georgia foothills) must have jumped as the Scottish bagpipes began their initial whining. I’m sure; however, he was ready to cheer along with the other men of G Company as the cadence became a dual anthem of the Scots’ relief at leaving the foxhole and one of breaking the tension of an untested pack of wolves.

The Timberwolves soon had no reason to doubt their abilities.Once in Holland Uncle Robert and the men of the 104th began a series of 195 days of continuous combat with the Battle of the Dikes through Holland. My uncle told his children tales about crawling on his stomach, probing the ground inch by inch with a knife in order to search for landmines. At one point during battle, he was seperated from his company for three days and survived by scrounging what food he could wherever he could find it; but just before MIA papers were to be sent home, he was reunited with his group.

Once they were finished with Holland the Timberwolves began a march through Germany savagely attacking the enemy. Relief was given to the First Division and they joined up with the U.S. Seventh Corps, First U.S. Army near Aachen, Germany in November.

The Timberwolves gained a reputation of an unflinching and ceaseless barrage of night attacks that terrified the Germans. Stolberg was taken as well as Eschweiler on November 21st. As they crossed the Siegfried line and Inde River near Inden in early December, 1944, a German radio broadcast reported ‘the most terrible and ferocious battle in the history of all wars.’ Many Germans called the fighting of the 104th ‘unfair’. The December 6th issue of Stars and Stripes stated, “Inden---there we stuck it out for four days under the heaviest artillery concentration ever experienced by American troops [approximately sixty shells a minute].” On December 9, 1944 the Army Times stated, “Correspondents predict that the coming battle of the Roer will see the bloodiest fight yet experienced on the Western Front.”

I’m fairly certain that Uncle Robert received his Bronze Star for his actions along the Roer River area because the date it was awarded coincides with the 104th’s location at that time. The citation states, “for heroic achievement in connection with military operations in Germany on December 12, 1944 when, during a heavy enemy counter attack, he directed the fire of his weapons until the attack was repulsed and the enemy was driven off with heavy losses.”

He also received a Purple Heart for being wounded in battle. A bomb hit close by him, and a large piece of flat metal hit his leg. He was told that if it had hit edgeways, it would have cut off his leg. His knee swelled so badly that he couldn’t get his pant leg on. He was sent to a medical unit where he remained for four weeks, but then was sent back to the front line.

That’s what Timberwolves did. They didn’t give up. They were tough. Nothing in Hell can stop the Timberwolves was their battle cry, and they proved it day after day as they slogged through Europe.

It is no surprise the Timberwolves had a larger than life reputation. Their training in Oregon and other places comprised mostly of night attacks….something the Germans did not like to do. They trained in the rain and mud in order to overrun the enemy at night and mop up operations during the day. Uncle Robert would have been highly trained in night sounds so that split second decisions could be made regarding identification of the sound and reaction. Twenty-five mile night marches were common practices during training. “Battles were town by town and river by river,” said Harold Kennedy, a Timberwolf soldier. Another soldier remarked, “We surprised [the Germans] so many times.”

Timberwolf commander, Terry Allen, called the spirit of Timberwolf training as ‘Get smart and get tough’. He called their battle tactics ‘continuous pressure and aggressive night attacks.’

Lucherberg was held by the Timberwolves from enemy counterattacks and all strongholds west of the Roer River were captured by December 23rd. For the next two months through February 23, 1945 the 104th defended the area they had won around Duren and Merken. They also saw action taking Huchem-Stammeln, Birkesdorf, and North Duren. By March they were entering Cologne. Afterwards they crossed the Rhine at Hoffef on March 22, 1945.

An offensive began against the Ruhr Pocket which was an area where over 300,000 Germans were surrounded, and finally a 375-mile sweep into the Mulde River brought them to the heart of Germany. Timberwolf Tracks (page 346) states, “Since 25 March the (104th) Division had advanced 375 miles, had captured 19,152 prisoners, had played a vital role in trapping the 335,000 German troops in the Ruhr pocket, and another 65,000 Nazis in the Harz Mountains.” Yes, the 104th was taking care of business and living up to the expections of their leaders.

They finally met up with the Red Army at Pretzsch on April 26, 1945. When they lost contact with the enemy on May 5 the brave men of the 104th Division had completed 195 consecutive days of combat.

Uncle Robert and his fellow soldiers fought ate, slept in mud, snow, and hail. They watched buddies fall by the wayside. My uncle often told his children about seeing comrades throw down their weapons and stand in the line of fire as a way of committing suicide even though he begged them to get down. He became a Christian during his early tour of Europe and his family believes it was his relationship with God that kept him strong and able to withstand the horrible experiences he had to endure. Many of his memories were painful for him. I even remember my own mother telling me not to bring up the war, a favorite subject of mine, to Uncle Robert. If he wanted to talk about it he would do it on his own. I’m glad that he spoke of it with his children. Uncle Robert always stated you didn’t need to dwell on the bad times too much, but should always look to the future with God’s help.

One of the stories that was nearest and dearest to Uncle Robert’s heart was the one about a young private who was a very good soldier but when he learned he was to be sent on one particularly dangerous mission he begged Uncle Robert not to send him. Uncle Robert was the Staff Sergeant which meant he had control over the assignments. Can you imagine the pain he must have felt knowing he was sending men out to die? That has to have an effect on you as it happens over and over and over for 195 days without a break. The young private cried and begged desperately not to be sent. He said to my uncle, “I know if I go in today, I will not come out alive. If I go, I know I will die today.” For some reason that we will never know, that young soldier was more afraid on that day than any other. Uncle Robert had the authority to send someone else, but instead put his own name on the mission list.

Uncle Robert went in the young private’s place.

Many years later tears would form in Uncle Robert’s eyes as he told his children about the young soldier. Unfortunately the passage of time had clouded his mind and he could not remember the young soldier’s name. At some point the family decided to try and find the soldier. There had been a a letter near the end of the war that was sent to my uncle’s mother stating that Uncle Robert had saved the private’s life, but it had long since been misplaced. Contact was made with many of the members of G Company asking if anyone remembered the story, but not a soul did. Uncle Robert could recall lots of names, but the name of the private with whom he shared such a personal bond was lost.

One afternoon in 1997, Uncle Robert was telling war tales again. He repeated the story about the young private. Suddenly he said, “His name was ……,” he said calmly. Everyone looked at each other in disbelief. As easily as the boy’s name had slipped from Uncle Robert’s mind many years ago, it had just as easily slipped back in.

That very afternoon in the mailbox was a new G Company newsletter. My aunt anxiously opened it and began reading all the latest news from the men to my uncle. At the end of the letter was a simple note from the wife of the young private informing Company G members that he had passed away, “after having gone through some hard times with cancer.”

You cannot go through an experience like that with someone and not have a bond with them. Uncle Robert never saw the private again after the war, but he knew the private credited him with saving his life. Uncle Robert’s daughter, Rena, likes to think that all of that time Uncle Robert thought about the private the Lord was actually using her father’s thoughts and prayers to to help the private through his battle with cancer. It was NOT just a coincidence that Uncle Robert remembered the private’s name on the very day he discovered the private had died of cancer. The private was finally at peace and Uncle Robert was too….since he remembered the name that had long evaded him.

It would seem that even though it took a lifetime…..the private finally repaid his debt to my uncle.

Uncle Robert is gone now. His family keeps his memory and his military service alive by sending in information to the local paper and submitting items for the church bulletin. Many of the personal details in this piece are taken from a piece of writing my cousins wrote. I want to thank my Aunt Claudine and her children---Tony, Gail, and Rena for allowing me to share Uncle Robert’s story.

Many people including the remaining Timberwolves themselves attempt to keep the brave service to their county out in the forefront with books and websites. The main site for the Timberwolves can be found here. A book called Timberwolves: The Story of the 104th can be ordered here.

A picture of G Company can be found here along with a handwritten note indicating the placement of each man. If the notes are correct Uncle Robert is in the picture to the right and counting from right to left he is the sixth soldier in the second row. The private who Uncle Robert replaced in battle is also in the picture according to the handwritten notes.

Tuesday, October 17, 2006

A Conundrum For You

Well, I’ve been back from the beach for a few days. I don’t know which is harder….the torture right before a break or the turmoil when you return from a break. I think Chinese water torture is easier in both cases.

I have a ‘things to do list’ which is longer than my left leg, and things are being added right and left as we speak. I’ll get to everything eventually, but it may take me some time. I have many more things to share about the beach and my trip, however, I think I’ve rubbed your nose into my paradise enough for now, and I bet you are ready for History Is Elementary to get back to the business of being about history and teaching so without any further beach talk here we go…..

These days everyone’s family tree is a little confusing due to the increase in divorce, remarriages, and cohabitation. I wouldn’t want to be a genealogist in one hundred years or so trying to decypher family lines. Activities and projects which revolve around the family unit can mean a teacher is treading into dangerous waters. A few years ago I thought it would be a really great activity to have a group of language arts students interview family members and obtain the receipes for special dishes that family members always want to have at family gatherings. You know, Aunt Mary’s Creamed Corn, Uncle Jim Bob’s spare rib sauce and so on. We were going to take the two or three receipes from each class member and students were going to write out the recipes and illustrate the pages. All of the pages were going to be bound into one booklet, mass produced, and shared with the entire class.

Sounds like an interesting activity right? Our first experience with history is learning our own family history. I was trying to jump start that a bit and get some conversations going at home.

I only had two kids to bring in recipes. Most never brought anything and I had five parents who wrote nasty notes wanting to know why I was prying into their families or informing me they don’t associate with family members.

Needless to say the subject of family can get a little touchy.

Southerners are always getting dumped on regarding our family trees. I’ll admit it…some family trees down here in the nether regions of the country are confusing. Hell, some family trees don’t even fork.

I have a confession to make. My maternal tree does fork, however, that sucker is inundated with the thickest, largest kudzu vine you ever did see. (If you don’t know what kudzu is click here.)

Many days ago I began thinking about Mom’s family. I hopped into bed with pen and paper and began diagramming all of the connections.

Hubby groaned. “Oh no, you’re not going to write about that, are you?”

“Now, now,” I soothed. “It’s not like Granma and Granpa were actually related.”

“Wasn’t your grandmother your grandfather’s wife and aunt at the same time?” Hubby asked.

“Well,……yeah. Technically,” I answered.

“Wasn’t your mother’s father also her grand uncle?”

Gee, I was amazed Hubby remembered all of this. “Yeah,” I answered, but….”

Hubby continued as if he was the District Attorney grilling me on the stand, gr“Wasn’t your grandmother’s father-in-law also her brother-in-law?”

As my family pride began to sag a bit I said, “Yes, that’s all true, but you’re making it sound like we all have three heads, one eye in the middle of our foreheads, and we’re cross-eyed to boot.”

Hubby raised his hand to shush me, “Wait,” he said, “I’m on a roll.” He peered over at my diagram and examined it for a minute.

Finally he said, “Your great-grandfather was also your great grand uncle.” He lay back on the pillow smiling and all full of himself.

“Hmmmmmm….Is there such a thing?” I countered. “Is there a distinction of grand uncle? But yes, I guess if you want to go that far you could say that my great grandfather was also my great grand uncle.”

I was getting exasperated at this point as I said, “Look, what’s your point? It’s my family tree. I thought I would share this information to introduce the topic of overlapping presidential administrations for a post over at American Presidents.”

“Oh. Well….Never mind then. That might be an interesting way to approach it.”

And it just might be an interesting way to approach the subject, but first see if you can untangle my family’s kudzu vine. I’ve even posted my family connections in green to make it easier for you to see all the twists and turns.

These family connections, as suspect as they may be, are all true. We are not deformed, and no laws have been broken so how about it?

Give my puzzle a whirl…

What makes these family connections completely innocent?

Monday, August 21, 2006

Twenty-One on 21



A few months ago I shared a family memory in a story titled A Sticky Easter Memory. At the end of the story I promised another tale involving my Aunt Rachel, myself, and a Kentucky Fried Chicken leg.

This isn’t it.

This story does involve Kentucky Fried Chicken, however. KFC is a mainstay of any Southern family diet along with Coca-Cola or as we refer to it, Coke. You can’t go to a family reunion, church social, tailgate party, picnic, or any other type of gathering without seeing that familiar red and white bucket. Other fried chicken chains may come and go, but “the colonel” remains “finger lickin’ good”.

I’m really not that fond of it, however, I know if I don’t partake of it from time to time I might have to surrender my official Southern Genteel Lady card. Like it or not though, I am fully convinced you can’t go into labor, at least with the first birth, unless you’ve eaten it.

Twenty-one years ago today our beautiful baby boy was born. He was eight pounds, ten ounces and twenty-one inches long, born around 10:30 p.m. wide-eyed with wonder at the world he had entered. Once the nurse put “the boy” as his father and I refer to him, in the tiny glass bed we called his name and the little thing actually turned his head to look at us. We melted and have been doing so ever since.

The night before Dear Son was born Hubby Dear was stuck on the base at Damneck, Virginia. He had to work late. His buddy who hailed from Tennessee decided to come by and check on me since I had spent a miserable July and August waiting on Dear Son to arrive. No Christmas from your childhood can compare to the agonizing wait to hold and see your child. The hot, humid days dragged on. I got so tired of hearing from family back home wanting to know when? When? When?

Well, our friend showed up with, what else? He had a large bucket of extra-crispy Kentucky Fried Chicken and several sides. I ate it, and I swear at four-thirty the next morning I awoke with a start with the knowledge that I was either having an accident in the bed or my water had broken.

Dear Son is no longer that sweet, sweet cherub seen in the picture. He was busy reading his book and we didn’t have the heart to tell him it was upside down. Today he is every bit a young adult male. He towers over me as I hug him with my face buried into his chest. The chubby cheeks have given way to chisled good looks and whiskers. He can no longer crawl into my lap, but occaisionally he gets on his knees to hug me and things seem right again for a few minutes.

All the little boys that lived our neighborhood are all grown now, but a few years ago these three streets where we live were raucous with their activity. At first all the moms would make phone calls to make sure it was ok if the boys played at a particular house. Later as they got older they were given more leaway and pretty much came and went from various houses as they pleased. Bikes, skateboards, and big wheels littered various yards as they moved through the neighborhood like a herd of locusts. For a time our driveway was busy as they were into playing basketball. Thud, thud, thud went the ball as each young man would sink it.

Soon after we moved into our house I allowed Dear Son outside and kept a constant watch on him through the window. I heard a car go by and a horn honk. I ran to the window. There was Dear Son peeing up a storm. A perfect, very high arch of liquid rocketed out of his body while his other hand was waving to the neighbor couple up the street as they drove by. There is nothing to compare with having a son!

There was the great wave of sickness one summer as one young man dared the rest to take a drink from our creek. Have you ever heard the expression going at both ends? Another time Dear Son spent an uncomfortable three days on his belly after his skateboard scooted out from underneath him as he was racing down the hill. The skateboard stopped but Dear Son didn’t and a fair patch of hide was taken from his po-po. What? You don’t refer to the rear end as a po-po?

Another time Dear Son came tearing in the house and ran up the steps to his room. I hollered up the steps, “Why are you home? Is anything wrong?”

Dear Son said, “No, just wanted to come home.” No sooner was that out of his mouth than I began to hear the wail of the siren. It was getting closer. I looked out just in time to see a fire truck, a fire chief’s car, and a sheriff’s deputy turn down the next street at breakneck speed.

I hollered up the steps again, “Do you know anything about that fire truck that just went down the street?”

“I didn’t do it,” Dear Son began, “I did what you always tell me to do.”
His face appeared at the top of the steps.

I crossed my arms and said, “What’s that?”

“Well, some of the guys wanted to go to the end of the street where they are building those new houses, and……well……..I didn’t start it. They did, and I left like you always tell me to do.”

Well, as it turned out Dear Son was telling the truth. The others admitted to it, and their parents had to talk to the police.

At dinner time the relay of messages began up and down the street as various Mom’s came out on the back porches to call their wee ones. We’d help each other out and shoo various children on with shouts of “Hey, I’ve got yours. Do you know where mine is?”

Dear Son, of course, made every step his Daddy did and always wanted to do everything his Daddy did. Of course this meant Daddy’s hammer being left outside during a rainstorm, Daddy’s bass boat having muddy footprints all over it where someone climbed all over it and Daddy’s tackle box in disarray. Later on Daddy’s truck would be driven a bit too fast and it was always returned lacking a large amount of gas. Trips for fishing, camping and golfing were all termed “No Girls Allowed”, and Daughter Dear and I were fine with that.

Today, the streets are quiet. All the little boys are in college, are working, or serving their county in Iraq or about to be.

During middle and highschool Dear Son began singing at school and at church. He is our child, but what a wonderful gift from God his voice is. He sang at mother's service and it was so hard for him to do, but he did so well. In the eighth grade we gave him a guitar and promised lessons. He eventually gave up on our promises and taught himself. You wouldn’t know he hasn’t had lessons.

His Senior year he had two MRI’s within a month. The first involved a touch football incident and the second involved a stupid choice of standing up in the back of this friend’s pick-up while the friend gunned the truck across the school parking lot. Later that summer we experienced an emergency appendectomy. Thank goodness for teacher insurance.

We had quite a scare the second month of college. His room-mate overcorrected on a mountain curve and flipped several times. Dear Son was the only one hurt…….his back was badly bruised and he still has problems three years later.

There is no way you can raise a child without Divine Intervention. The hand of God has kept our child safe, has given him decent friends, enabled him to share his beliefs through his music, and enabled him to touch so many lives in so many different age groups. Hubby Dear and I are anxious to see God’s plan unfold in his life and are honored to be able to take part.

Well, our Dear Son. We wish you a very happy birthday. We are extremely proud of you, and we can’t wait to share twenty-one time two more years with you!

Wednesday, July 26, 2006

The Human Kind Revisited

Thank you to everyone who posted after my first acknowledgment found here. I really appreciate it.

NYC Educator at NYC Educator apologized for being late with his sentiments. Dear, we may be from opposite ends of the east coast, but showing concern for someone is what matters….not the timing. Thanks. Ditto to Janet at the The Art of Getting By. I agree, life is what happens when you are making other plans.

Chance over at The Sapient Sutler left me some very appropriate lyrics from Bob Dylan. Thanks!

Dennis over at From the Trenches of Public Ed. gave me a link and expressed concern. He also confided he is facing his own parent’s journey with Alzheimers. My step-grandmother had it, and currently I have an uncle who is living with it. I’m sorry…..

Ms. Cornelius over at A Shrewdness of Apes must be an absolute God-send at her school if she exhibits one-eighth the amount of caring she shows any of us when we have an emotional upheaval. She has been more than supportive by posting about my situation and even calling me a Steel Magnolia. I don’t know about that, but I appreciate it.

Kontan from Kontan's Place, is someone I can always count on for support when I need it most. Thanks!

Bellezza from Never Cease to Learn, a new visitor, felt compelled to comment regarding my comments concerning Mom’s Bible. Welcome, Beleeza! I can’t wait to visit you, and thanks for your comments.

And finally… and apology of sorts. I want to say thank you to the person who nominated my post “July 4, 1776, An Imagi-Holiday” to the History Carnival sometime during the week of July 17th. I also want to apologize to the many, many folks who dropped by to read the post and instead were subjected to an arrogant attempt by a reader to put me in my place. My response to the person, someone who had never commented here before, explains the situation far better than I can here. You can see the post and comments here. I was unaware that the post was in the carnival and the tone of the comments just really set me off considering what I had gone through that day. In defense of the person who commented it is very possible that he linked to me through the carnival and would not have been aware of my situation. At any rate……I welcome comments, even comments that call me a terrible teacher and call me pathetic, but I do reserve the right to respond or not. :)

Tuesday, July 25, 2006

A Few Quiet Mornings Left

It’s a quiet morning here except for the sound of the washing machine and the steady stream of “fair and balanced news” coming from the Middle East emitting from my bedroom television.

Both kidlets plus one friend are still asleep, and hubby left for his business an hour ago. I have a few, very few, precious mornings like this left before I am required to report to my campus for preplanning.

Students report to school next Friday, August 4th, for their first day of school. Yikes! This means my preplanning begins next Monday. Double yikes!

My classroom is a wreck. Every cabinet, bookshelf, desk, table, chartstand, and chair will have to return to its appropriate spot as everything was shoved to one side back in June for carpet cleaning. This was a good thing since two of my precious ones took to throwing up on my carpet last year. I have avoided the spots ever since.

My school was the recipient of an e-rate grant this summer so our televisions have been upgraded, a telephone system has been installed, a new bell system, and we now have cameras in our hallways and out side our building. Fantastic! However, my television was moved from one corner to the opposite one. I’m hoping the wiring is still there to use the tv as a computer monitor when I need to do a power point or show some other kind of image.

I guess I need to corral my school’s computer guru and pinpoint him regarding some of my personal issues. I want to make sure that I can still show clips of videos from United Streaming so that the picture is the right size and the sound comes through. I want to use a classroom blog with my writing students so they can use the comment feature to peer analyze and critique. Our filters are so strong any type of web journal simply won’t come through without the guru approving the URL.

Our Leadership meeting was yesterday. It was nice to get back with everyone and I had much love and support from my colleagues due to my recent loss.

I still have scads of thank-yous to write. Mother would kill me if she knew I still had not gotten to this. She was always very prompt as a fine Southern lady should be. I still have a few to do from my world of blog, and I will.

Now that it is time to become a teacher again I will start my ever expanding “TO DO LIST” and all of those people who need to be thanked will be entered upon the list along with things like “finish regions power point”, “copy units for Connie”, “complete team agenda for meeting”, etc.

One of the best feelings in the world is to cross an item off your “TO DO LIST” and make it a “TA-DAH!”…..something finished….something accomplished…..something earned.

I want to get back to normal, but normal has changed. I’m still in the “TO DO” stage with all that has occurred, and that’s ok.

It’s going to take some time to get normal to feel right again and turn all of this around from a “TO DO” to a “TA-DAH”, but I will do it….in time.

Thursday, July 20, 2006

Bibles...Recorded History

Bibles are wonderful things, of course. They guide some of us in our religious lives. They provide a history for the Hebrew people, the beginnings of the Christian church, as well as document other groups of people thriving in ancient times. The Bible is one of the world’s best works of literature. Bibles also become very personal to the owner as they usually contain information regarding the history of the owner, or series of owners, in some cases. By examining someone’s Bible you can determine past addresses, important dates within a family, and particular passages that guided the owner. Tucked between the pages you can discover items that the owner held dear and precious.

Most people cannot bring themselves to throw or give a Bible away. They are valuable objects, and the fact that some distant relative took the time to record family births, deaths, and marriages within the front and back pages make the book even more dear. I have several that belonged to my grandfather and now two more have been added to my collection.

In short…Bibles give us a compass for our future while cementing our feet in our past. There is no way to forget your family’s past if you have a family Bible.

During the course of the weekend my sister and I hurriedly ransacked our Rubbermaid containers labeled ‘mother’ that we had packed up, divided among us, and stored at our respective homes almost four years ago as mother left her apartment for the nursing home. We refused to get rid of anything in case she asked for it. I just couldn’t stand the thought of her sweet face looking up from her bed and asking, “Hon, where’s that pansy writing paper you gave me three years ago for Mother’s Day? I want to write a letter.” Or, even worse, “Sweetie, I’m tired of looking at that crystal candy dish. I want the one Sara and Fauscett gave me….you know, the one that used to sit on the coffee table at Red Oak.” I simply didn’t want to have to say she no longer owned something so between my sister and I everything was stored.

Mother’s casket was closed for the majority of the visitation period at her request. Therefore, sister and I wanted to have as many pictures of mother as possible set out around the two rooms we were given. We wanted to put out pictures of her with us, with my dad (even though they were divorced), with her family, as a child, and with her friends. Between the two of us we did really well. There were pictures everywhere and many of mother’s highschool friends had a great time trying to figure out who was who in some of them. After many years of sickness it was great therapy for all of us to be surrounded by images of the Geri we all all remember whether we remembered her as sister, wife, mother, aunt, cousin, or friend.

One of the things I came across as I hurriedly grabbed pictures was Mother’s Bible. She had used two for several years. After her father’s death in 1984 she had begun using The Living Bible that my sister and I had given our grandfather as a gift in 1977. His writing is all over the inside covers, passages are underlined, and an occaisional slip of paper with his handwriting can be found between the pages. Mother’s Bible is, of course, a King James version, published by The World Publishing Company. I couldn’t locate a date of publishing. The address she wrote in the front was the first house my mother and father bought together in Atlanta close to my Aunt Boofie ( I wrote about her here). Mother’s neat handwriting abounds in this Bible. The dates and details of my sister’s baptism and wedding, my baptism and wedding, the date Mother moved her letter of membership to another church, certain passages that meant something to her: what to read during times of death, passages concerning types of dress for men and women, a reminder of where the “seasons” passage can be found (Ecclesiastes 3:1); and passages every Baptist is concerned about at one time or another regarding tithing. Romans, her favorite chapter is underlined heavily. The pages are yellow, the cover is brittle, the picture in the front is a rendering of the prodigal son’s return to his father’s arms. I remember sitting next to her in church on Sunday mornings thumbing through her Bible and always stopping at the picture and gazing at it since I couldn’t yet read. I always thought the white bearded man was God welcoming people to Heaven.

The real treasure mine of Mother’s Bible was the “stuff” she had placed within the pages. Various bookmarks folks had given her with their names inscribed on the back with a laundry marker on the back so she wouldn’t forget who gave it to her. Several cards from my sister and I for birthdays and Mother’s Day. A scrap of paper that my cousin Nathan wrote on when he was a much younger child. He was writing a letter to my mom alongside his grandmother. When his grandmother put her letter in the evelope she included Nathan’s letter to Geri, too. I couldn’t help smile as I looked at it. Mother had written on it exactly who had scribbled on the paper, why, and when. Nathan is now a very handsome young man and I’m going to make a copy of the paper to keep and send his mother the original for her to place between the pages of her Bible. A memory passed along…..a story for a future father to tell when he goes through his mother’s Bible…..life does have a way of carrying on, doesn’t it?

Notes from friends, old church bulletins, copies of letters she wrote to her old church and pictures. There is a five by seven picture of my sister and her husband on their wedding day. There is another picture showing the first house my mom and dad built together. It’s down the road from where my dad lives now. It’s a huge home. We never lived there……..I wonder why mom kept a picture in her Bible of that house. Maybe she liked to remember the good times we had there while it was under construction before she and my father divorced.

Several obituaries were found within the pages as well----my grandfather, my grandmother, my mother’s half-brother, many other family members as well. I carefully replaced them. I believe they should stay where she had them. Afterall, these things are treasures and someone else in the future will enjoy their find.

I looked up some information about Bibles. You can see several images of English and American Bibles here and here.

Sometimes we don’t need a history textbook or some heavy tome to discover where we’ve been. Sometimes, all we need to do is grab our family Bible.

Your past is waiting for you within its pages.