Essays & Articles
Uncle
Gene's Gift
Two months before Christmas I
came up with an idea for my sister's Christmas gift; a photo album. Not
an ordinary photo album with snapshots, but an old fashioned family
album. I'd always been envious of those people who possessed family
albums, showing organized photographs of parents, grandparents,
great-grandparents and great-great-grandparents. Which of course is
about as far back as someone from my generation might go and still use
photographs.
Just months before I decided on my
sister's gift, I'd become involved with two projects. The first was
organizing all my photographs and the second was researching our family
tree. When embarking on this genealogical endeavor I explored all
branches of the family and I began sending out questionnaires and making
phone inquires.
Hence came the gift idea for my
sister, Lynn. I simply utilized the work and research already completed.
With the help of my mother and an aunt, I located photographs of my
parents, both sets of grandparents, four sets of great- grandparents,
plus group shots of each family showing the children of each generation.
Information I'd gathered, such as birth, death and marriage dates had
been entered into a genealogy computer program. Using acid free paper
and a laser printer, I printed out pedigree charts to accompany the
photographs.
In the midst of assembling the album
a package arrived from my cousin Karen. She had been one of the
relatives I had called months earlier, on the advice of my mother.
Karen's father, my mother's brother, had passed away a little over a
year before. According to my mother, Uncle Gene had been working for
sometime on a family history. Perhaps, mother suggested, Karen might be
able to send me some copies of Gene's work.
I had called Karen and she told me
her father had been working on the family history, but she wasn't
familiar with it. Karen's mother, Alice, had recently moved in with
Karen and they were in the process of sorting through Gene and Alice's
home. Karen promised that if they uncovered her father's work they'd
send me a copy.
And so, just weeks before Christmas,
Karen's package arrived. It contained a neatly typed 32 page paper which
Uncle Gene had written. The story began with Uncle Gene's great
Grandfather, Stephen Glandon who'd been a twin born in Tennessee, and
whose ancestors had come from Scotland. It told of Stephen's son
William, my mother's grandfather, who'd been a broom corn farmer, and
how the family had traveled across the country. Gene wrote about his
mother's parents, Grandpa Bakken, who'd come to the United States from
Norway and his wife, whose mother been born on the ship coming over from
Switzerland.
The paper was filled with antidotes
which gave greater meaning to the faces in the photographs and the dry
dates of births, marriages and deaths that I'd been gathering. But, my
favorite story in Uncle Gene's paper was about his parents, my Grandma
Hilda and Grandpa George.
Growing up I adored my Grandma Hilda.
Her first husband, my Grandpa George, had died when my mother was a
young girl. Grandma Hilda had remarried when my mother was a grown
women, and the only maternal grandfather I had ever known was my Grandpa
Pete, a sweet gentleman, who was wonderful to me.
To me, Grandma Hilda had always been
a soft, plump woman, with kind blue eyes, smooth flawless fair skin,
soft gray hair, who was legally blind, yet still managed to dabble in
arts and craft and was devoted to her religion. She was the most gentle
and loving woman I had ever known.
Grandma Hilda had passed away at
least 16 years prior to the reading of Uncle Gene's family history
paper. Gene used a tape recorder to interview Grandma and her sister,
over two decades ago. With this information he painted a wonderful story
of my grandparent's life.
He told of Grandpa's George's
relentless pursuit of Hilda's heart. Of their wagon trip from Seattle to
Montana, where their homestead awaited their labors. Page after page,
antidotes revealed the fascinating lives of my pioneer grandparents. I
came to know Hilda as a complete woman; strong, fearless, adventuresome
and spirited. I grew to love my grandfather whom I had never known,
appreciated his talents and his obvious love for his family. I was
suddenly proud of my heritage, in a way I had never been before.
The next time I looked at the album I
was preparing for my sister, the photographs, names and dates suddenly
held deeper meaning. Before, the album had been one dimensional, yet now
it was three-dimensional. When I looked at the photograph of my great
grandpa Bakken, I remembered how he loved cream, hated cats and played
the violin. I knew his wife was a fragile woman, who baked wonderful
treats and was always supportive of my grandmother. When I would look at
the photographs of my Great Grandpa and Grandma Glandon, I would know
that they were farmers, that he was a stubborn man, and together with
their children they would take a year to travel across the continent.
Uncle Gene had been gone a little
over a year, but he had given me a wondrous Christmas gift. It was a
gift I could share with other members of my family, including my
children.
He also taught me a lesson; I learned
how important it was to sit down with my mother and mother-in-law, and
record for posterity the stories of their lives and experiences. I
regret not listening more to my grandparents when they were still alive.
Fortunately Uncle Gene was wiser than I.
Thank you, Uncle Gene. And
Merry Christmas.