Sometimes I resent listening to people proudly sharing their heritage. “I’m Irish and my family is from the village of so and so” or “My family is from this country in Africa and we can trace our history back to my great-great-great-great-great grandmother.” Growing up I didn’t know much about my family’s history, my grandmother was very tight lipped and the information that she did share was not something that I would want to pass on to my daughter at this point in time. To compensate for my lack of family history I would snap back with a stock snarky response about how my family history couldn’t be known since they had been kidnapped and ripped from our homeland. This would get some giggles and chuckles and I would be able to think, “Whew! Dodged that bullet.”
Instead of thinking about history, I decided that no, I didn’t need to know where I came from and was going to be that person who fought learning about my ancestors. This too worked for a while and then came Facebook. Say what you will about this social media but Facebook can dig up anybody and dig it did. Through the magic wonders of Facebook I have connected with family from all over the country. Its quite the small miracle that I can now connect with people who once knew my grandfather and can give me more information about his life.
No longer do I feel disconnected. My immediate family is wonderful but it fills me with joy to know that there are more talented, wonderful people sharing some bits of me out there. Someday when we all meet in real life I want to shake their hands and let them know just how much they made my little family feel bigger.
Proud to be a Fagg,
-r
When Julia travels to Burma to search for her missing lawyer father, she discovers much more than she expected. Join From Left to Write on February 1 as we discuss The Art of Hearing Heartbeats by Jan-Philipp Sendker. As a member of From Left to Write, I received a copy of the book. All opinions are my own.
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