Damn, Those Genes Look Good On You!

"You're starting to suspect that the story of how Mommy and Daddy met actually involved fewer rainbows and unicorns and more booze and Camaros."

A small number of you may have noticed there was never a follow-up to my sectioned post regarding my recent trip "home". This is largely due to my inability to quite reconcile all that took place the remainder of the visit. It left me with feelings of sorrow and loneliness and I suppose I somehow think time will heal those wounds. Nonetheless, all was not lost.

I had previously found a great deal of entertainment in the tales of my dear Dziadek (my paternal grandfather). For various reasons, some of which have been shared with me over the years, many of his children were not nearly as fond of him as I. But there are always vastly differing emotions gathered from assorted points-of-view as well as personal experiences. My intent was surely never to argue with any of those. In my own dealings with him and the stories he told me of his childhood, I felt an undeniable sense of pride and more often than not, amusement. One source of such joy lay in the simple fact that we seemingly had/have quite a lot in common.

On this recent trip "home", it was discovered that hours upon hours of recordings exist from my father's final few visits with Dziadek before his passing. I experienced a once-in-a-lifetime chance to look back upon faded photographs of both my father and grandfather as children combined with those of relatives I wouldn't necessarily recognize in a crowd of two. Old, crumbling letters, yearbooks, portraits and quite simply history. Amazing how across such an expansive passing of time, little has in fact changed. The voice recordings are of particular interest as I barely KNEW the man I feel such a connection towards.

This all leads me to place a greater value upon the preservation of memories for those down the genealogical road. References to my "craftiness" have little to do with some mythical notion of scrapbooking passions and I rarely take the time to organize the captured moments of days gone by as it is. As the antithesis of a packrat, I have no doubt long-since tossed old yearbooks or childhood photos and such - but I do now appreciate a sense of altering those habits going forward. What is junk to one can easily equate to the treasures of another. Something as simple as the handwriting on an old envelope. All too easy to overlook personal touches in the ever-advancing age of technology - I just hope I can somehow pass down an impression other than "cyber attention whore" with a bit of effort! ;)

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Kitty

Tuesday, May 31, 2011

Damn, Those Genes Look Good On You!

"You're starting to suspect that the story of how Mommy and Daddy met actually involved fewer rainbows and unicorns and more booze and Camaros."

A small number of you may have noticed there was never a follow-up to my sectioned post regarding my recent trip "home". This is largely due to my inability to quite reconcile all that took place the remainder of the visit. It left me with feelings of sorrow and loneliness and I suppose I somehow think time will heal those wounds. Nonetheless, all was not lost.

I had previously found a great deal of entertainment in the tales of my dear Dziadek (my paternal grandfather). For various reasons, some of which have been shared with me over the years, many of his children were not nearly as fond of him as I. But there are always vastly differing emotions gathered from assorted points-of-view as well as personal experiences. My intent was surely never to argue with any of those. In my own dealings with him and the stories he told me of his childhood, I felt an undeniable sense of pride and more often than not, amusement. One source of such joy lay in the simple fact that we seemingly had/have quite a lot in common.

On this recent trip "home", it was discovered that hours upon hours of recordings exist from my father's final few visits with Dziadek before his passing. I experienced a once-in-a-lifetime chance to look back upon faded photographs of both my father and grandfather as children combined with those of relatives I wouldn't necessarily recognize in a crowd of two. Old, crumbling letters, yearbooks, portraits and quite simply history. Amazing how across such an expansive passing of time, little has in fact changed. The voice recordings are of particular interest as I barely KNEW the man I feel such a connection towards.

This all leads me to place a greater value upon the preservation of memories for those down the genealogical road. References to my "craftiness" have little to do with some mythical notion of scrapbooking passions and I rarely take the time to organize the captured moments of days gone by as it is. As the antithesis of a packrat, I have no doubt long-since tossed old yearbooks or childhood photos and such - but I do now appreciate a sense of altering those habits going forward. What is junk to one can easily equate to the treasures of another. Something as simple as the handwriting on an old envelope. All too easy to overlook personal touches in the ever-advancing age of technology - I just hope I can somehow pass down an impression other than "cyber attention whore" with a bit of effort! ;)

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