Memories

Yesterday I spent the day at the Allen County Public Library researching some genealogy. One of the things I remember about my dad was that he liked history and doing genealogy research. I think he was accepted into the Sons of the American Revolution as a result of his research, but joining selective groups isn't the reason I am interested in family history at all. What interests me are the stories. I have been able to uncover real life stories of people who were born as far back as 1795, finding things I am sure he did not know. Some of the stories I've uncovered aren't heroic or patriotic--although some are-- but rather the opposite. Just as there are people who are selfless and heroic today, there are others whose character is based on selfishness and weakness.  People have the same nature, passions and desires no matter what generation.  I am discovering stories of real people that I want to write about as part of my sabbatical.

But for the blog I am thinking of memories of my dad. I don't think of him as a hero, but I don't think of him as selfish or weak either. If I could use words to describe him they would be balanced and faithful. I think he was faithful to hard work, family, community and he was grounded as a man of Faith. He was balanced because he was interested in a lot of things.  Golf, basketball, current events, Sunday night tv (Ed Sullivan), history, and travel come to mind.

I was thinking of one memory when he signed me up to be a page in the Indiana Legislature in Indianapolis. He was working in Indianapolis at the time, so I went with a girlfriend and it was her father who drove us to Indianapolis for the day. I was about 10 or 11 years old at the time, just beginning to become aware of things outside my narrow Royerton Road window. On that day we went to Block's Department store for lunch and then on to the Genealogy Department of the Indiana State Library. That small event must have made an impression on me because later I would work in that very Division as my first job as a librarian. One day when I was working there I dug out the daily registers hidden in the dark recesses of the storage area. I found the January 31 entry to see his name as he had inscribed it there. There is a memory in that. Years after he had passed away that signature gave me something physical to remember him by.  

I inherited the research and papers that my father had collected and then some more. I've probably quadrupled the amount of information, a benefit of the ease of access to online resources and a few skills I learned in the profession.  So that day, just one moment in time, ended up being a significant force in my future. Little did know at the time. I have come to love to research. I love it more than writing, although writing is what my sabbatical is about.

I hope this blog will prime me for writing about those stories. I have heard time after time that to be a writer you have to write. So this blog is my warm up exercise. I don't think what I say is profound or deep but it is personal. Writing that is personal is risky and cuts open deep gashes of the past. In that writing I hope it will heal those gashes.