Grandpa hates pictures. Like really, really hates them. He hates pictures like the rest of the family hates the work jumpsuits he wears everyday, regardless of the occasion. Which is why I took this quick snapshot of him and Big Man a few months ago. Because I knew it would be one of the few that I get of him during his time here on earth. And I want my grandkids to know who their great grandpa was...jumpsuits and all.
I realized the other day that my kids have no idea who their ancestors are. There aren't a lot of stories about the men and women who came before them being told around the campfire or the kitchen table.
I remember some of my family's history being told to me when I was doing a report for school in Junior High, and I've read little bits and pieces about some of them here and there, but other than that, it wasn't until just recently that I made some really amazing discoveries about my lineage. And I know this sounds stupid, but knowing where I came from has helped me deal with some of my most deepset issues.
I am finally starting to feel there is more to who I am than my issues and my feelings and my past. Does that make sense? I belong to something bigger than my little semi-dysfunctional unit. For some reason, learning more about my forefathers has helped me see things from a different perspective. Maybe it was just the fact that my world got a little larger when I began to own my heritage.
Anyway...the more I learn about some of these people who started the gene pool to which I belong, the more grateful I am for amazingly strong ancestors who were willing to make some pretty tough choices and some big sacrifices for future generations. So it occurred to me that my boys need to know about these amazing people too. They need to know that their world started long before they were ever born and that there were folks who paved the way for them. They need to know their people.
