We are all interconnected through an invisible line to someone we’ll never know.
Our linage shows us our genetic makeup, but it also creates unwritten stories of a part of our family that is on the other side of the world.
I’m like most American’s: I’m a little bit of a lot. I’m Irish, Scottish, Welsh, English, French, and German. (Or as I like to joke- incredibly white.)
As humans we are intrigued by our own history.
For me not only do I wish that I could have more knowledge of my ancestors (although not what they did), but who they were as a person. What habits did they have, and did some slip down the line to me? My grandfather’s great grandfather came to America from Scotland, but left behind a brother.
So I wonder if he had children and if they still reside in Scotland. Could that invisible line ever be colored in? I wonder about my distant cousins, so far removed by now that it probably doesn’t even count. I do so because there’s a connection that can be traced to people that have lived a completely different life than I have- than the life of my direct linage.
As a writer I tend to want to know anything, everything, whatever intrigues me. What I hate are the pieces of life that you can never uncover. I find that as time moves on, less is known about the ones who came before us.
I can’t name my grandmother’s grandmother. And when you really count the years, those generations aren’t that long ago.
So I wonder, intrigued by the family I’ll never know.