Yet To Be

May 9, 1948 is written on the back of this picture. Let's see. That would be around three years after World War II, and just about the start of the "Cold War". War does not seem to be a big issue on either face, but hey, this was Winchester, KY. Far removed from the politics of the world at this time it was.

It is a picture of my grandfather (Joseph Wheeler Jones, we called Pap paw) and his baby girl (Linda Carol). Fathers and daughters have a special relationship. [Having three daughters of my own I have a little experience with this!] The look on Linda Carol's face is precious. "My daddy", she seems to be saying... standing here with my dad, how special.

This was also three years before I was even born. Hard to imagine that I was not even in existence when this picture was taken. Yet to be. Funny how that sounds now looking back in time. That Y-chromosome had been passed down to my Dad, but it was yet to be passed on to me. I can not imagine all the things that happened during this period before I was. Mom, Dad..." first comes love, then comes marriage, then comes the baby carriage..." as we use to sing. That's what our ancestors are...all the things that happened before we were. Us...mostly the sum of them. How about that! We all at one time were yet to be.

To Genealogist Everywhere: We are the Chosen

We are the chosen. 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.

Doing genealogy is not a cold gathering of facts but, instead, breathing life into all who have gone before. We are the story tellers 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? 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 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. The bones here are bones of my bone and flesh of my flesh. 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 the fathers fought and some died to make and keep us a Nation. It goes to a deep and immense understanding that they were doing it for us. It is of equal pride and love that our mothers struggled to give us birth. Without them we could not exist, and so we love each one, as far back as we can reach. 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 they and they are the sum of who we are. So, as a scribe called, I tell the story of my family. It is up to the one called in the next generation to answer the call and take my place in the long line of family storytellers.

This is why I do my family genealogy, and that is what calls those young and old to step up and restore the memory or greet those whom we have never known before. So we do.

Author Unknown