How Important Is Knowing Your Origins?

B_cigarbabe

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Oh I agree with that! My first taste of it happened when going through a will from my father's side of the family. It enumerated things like pots and utensils, beds, farming tools, and..... slaves. As he was from Massachusetts, that was the last thing I expected to see but there it was. "Sally, 8, negro." There were three slaves altogether, a family I don't know. It shocked me because I wondered if I lived then would I have done the same thing? How could I relate to someone who would do such a thing I find completely abhorrent? Digging-up the skeletons has since become one of the most satisfying things I do. It helps paint a more complete picture and throws some spice into things.

I agree that it is most important, to find out who,what,and where your family came from.
Chico and Jason,have views on this subject which closely, mirror my own and since they've already said it,I won't!
On another note, Jason, I think it's incredibly brave of you, to post the
will from that g.g.g.g.grandfather! I can't imagine how, that would make one feel, when it's something so foriegn to your own ideals.
Bravo!
cigarbabe:saevilw:
 

Principessa

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How Important Is Knowing Your Origins?

Getting back to the OP and his question I think it's much more important than most of us realize. For those of us who know our ancestry we tend to take it for granted. I grew up hearing, "you are a Montgomery, you're better than that" or "more is expected of you;" and quite frankly I never understood why.:confused: I still don't .:tongue:

For SLB who seems to have had a somewhat tumultuous childhood to suddenly find out that his father, whom he thought had committed suicide, was not his father; and that the man who in actuality is his father is alive and well. I can only imagine it felt like someone pulled the rug out from under him. That is some major s%*t people!

 

jason_els

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On another note, Jason, I think it's incredibly brave of you, to post the will from that g.g.g.g.grandfather! I can't imagine how, that would make one feel, when it's something so foriegn to your own ideals. Bravo!
cigarbabe:saevilw:


Thanks for the vote but I don't see it as brave, we don't visit the sins of the fathers on the sons in this country even if we occasionally visit the glories. I'm no more responsible for him than for my ancestor who murdered three of his brothers or for my two ancestors who were made saints. I'm not a slaver nor a saint. Though those people had a hand (or a penis) in making me, I am no more glorious or nefarious as they. I'm just me. Besides, who am I pleasing by doing so? If the ghosts of my ancestors are watching then who do I side with? Those who were Tories during the revolution or those who fought against England? Did my Czech ancestors hate my German ancestors? I can pinpoint several times where I had at least one ancestor fighting another in war. Which side do I sympathize with? I can't. They interest me but I'm not living their lives though, strangely enough, I have a feeling I was at least one of my late ancestors in a past life.

I think there is a middle ground between my position and Earl's. If you don't let the names and ranks of the famous ancestors intimidate or falsely inflate your ego as I admittedly used to, then genealogy can be a helpful tool in helping to answer some of life's greater questions like, who am I? and where did I come from? I'm bits and parts of kings, queens, and saints, but far more of me is made of merchants, bastards, soldiers, farmers, traders, and peasants. Most of those I may never know simply because they weren't nearly as well recorded as the rest. And even if I am the combination of all that genetic material, as Earl states, my life and my soul are mine alone, accountable to no ancestor living or dead. They don't own me.
 

B_ScaredLittleBoy

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I don't know if it is major shit but sometimes I wonder if I should just get on with things?

Anyway some more info:

My (supposed) real father doesn't "acknowledge me" and the only thing he ever gave me was once, after I 'found out', a game called Shadow of Memories. Which may have been a kind gesture but thinking about it, it could have been a cruel joke?

The problem is not so much that I don't know my origins its the nervousness (shame?) I feel whenever I see my dad's family. And the ignorance of my own family. I can't find anything to like about my mother either, I "dislike" everything about her.

I did also at one time think I might be adopted; if they lied about who my father is why not my mother too? But sadly it appears I'm not adopted lol.

Anyway its just a kind of mess really, for want of a better descriptor.

Thanks for the PM link njqt although it is a bit unnerving to think I might have a psychosis :tongue:
Although I think the link was slightly unrelated to what I had in mind. Thinking about it yesterday I thought it could be an identity crisis and/or 'abandonment issues'?

Thanks anyway peeps. Any qualified psychologists on the site? :tongue:
 

jason_els

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What is it with men who throw away their children like that? I couldn't imagine doing that. He doesn't deserve you, SLB.

:hug:
 

whatireallywant

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Yet plenty of immigrants retain their heritage. Miami is filled with Cubanos who actively work to destabilize the Castro regime and plan to return to Cuba at its fall. Every Italian I know can tell you when his or her family came over and where they are from in Italy. There are social clubs and even self-created ghettos for just about every major recent immigrant population in New York and New Jersey. We have Thai dance schools, capoeira dojos, Russian Orthodox churches, oriental markets, gamelan concerts: the list is endless. They bring their religion, their festivals, their food (thank you GOD!!), their music, and their language with them. I also enjoy this diversity - I would further say "thank you GOD!" for the music as well as the food! Being a fan of world music as I am. :smile:

If every immigrant population homogenized then we'd all be living in Levittowns and eating Wonder Bread. How dull we'd be! YIKES!!!

This of course reminds me of one of my favorite passages from Richard Lederer's book "More Anguished English" where a high school English teacher talked to the class about America being not so much a melting pot as an ethnic stew. To paraphrase (don't know the passage verbatim) "In a stew, all parts contribute to the whole but retain their individual identity. The potatoes retain their potatoness, the carrots retain their carrotness - and the peas retain their peaness" :biggrin1:
 

Principessa

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Thanks for the PM link njqt although it is a bit unnerving to think I might have a psychosis :tongue: I don't think you sound psychotic. I was just going off of the info you gave me.
Although I think the link was slightly unrelated to what I had in mind. Thinking about it yesterday I thought it could be an identity crisis and/or 'abandonment issues'?
Now abandonment issues I know about personally! :biggrin1:

Mine go back to my first birthday in April 1967. My half sister from my moms' first marriage died on my first birthday. I have no recollection of her, so at least I don't have that to deal with too. She was 16 when she died from a post-op pneumonia. My mom understandably went quite nuts with grief, so much so that she couldn't care for me. There was no grief counseling back then and if there was she certainly never went. I have often thought she never went completely back to normal after Valarie's death.

That's when her mother came from Philadelphia to live with us, she stayed until I was 4.5 years old. Now the thing I didn't realize until just last summer was my mom went back to work in September of 1967, she was a kindergarten teacher. So I only had a normal mommy for 1 calendar year. :frown1: My grandmother loved me; but not as much as her other lighter skinned grandchildren, which was always made clear to me from an early age. To this day my mothers nieces and sister will be talking to me and call me by my dead sisters name. I grew up hearing how vibrant and outgoing she was. I was a painfully shy child who often clung to my mothers skirts like velcro. She was a majorette during football season and a cheerleader during basketball season. I did Yearbook. :redface: She was so popular they had to close school the day of her funeral because so many kids called out sick to go.

Now, I realize there is no way to compete with a perfect, ghost child. But back then I was always striving to be as good as my dead sister. :mad:

C'est la vie, like many before me and many more after me, I have survived a rather odd and sometimes painful childhood, life goes on. :smile:
 

B_ScaredLittleBoy

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Looks like you turned out well :smile:
Nice ass at least hehe.

I'll research a bit more into the topic. Haven't had time today. I just moments of non-clarity where I wallow in my own psychological filth.

Thanks you bebe. Very helpful. :smile: