Recording history

I'm clearing out some old posts, ones that never got published and have languished with the DRAFT label for no better reason than that I couldn't bring myself to complete the thought that spurred me to write. I edit to make the post at least intelligible (or so I hope), but otherwise leave the core thought as it was. Enjoy.

The following was written in August of 2009.

Ten days ago David's grandfather Verl, aged 96 and a half, passed away peacefully. He was the last of David's and my grandparents, and the only one to have known Adam. My grandma Ginny, the last surviving on my side, died weeks before Adam was born, just seven months ago. We miss them both, and all of our grandparents, each in their own way, dearly. For better or worse, they are our links to the past, part of the mystery of who we are and why.

While we have no regrets about waiting to have a child, we are sad that we did not have Adam sooner, in order to have shared his joy with more of our grandparents. Having a kid with a grandparent in residence was a true blessing. When the baby cried or projectile vomited, I worried that the disruption would bother Verl, but he was unfazed. He would calmly point out that the baby behaved as he did for a reason; it was nothing that getting upset about would help (how very logical). Naturally, as a father, I imagine he a) was not very helpful if even much present during his own child's rearing in the 1950s, and b) when he was aware of concerns involving the child, he wasn't near as patient as when he was 96 and tickled to finally be a great grandpa, ever present with no obligations attached. For this reason, I hope to live to be a grandmother, and I hope to be nearby when I am.

Thinking about life and death lately gets me thinking about my family history pursuits. Genealogy has been a hobby of mine for a long time, and I try to preserve just enough data to provide a rich record of history for my own ancestors. Years before they passed away, I did interviews with both Ginny and Verl. I asked them about their childhood, where they lived, early memories of home, school, and family traditions. These recordings don't bring loved ones back, but their voices and personal perspectives lend irreplaceable pieces of data. Plus it was just nice to sit down and have a conversation about personal history without any judgments or comments (along the lines of "Oh no, not that story again"). During the recorded interview it was for posterity, and I didn't mind repetition one bit.

The idea came to me after I heard a West Virginia woman interviewed on the radio, a woman whose voice sounded exactly like that of my great grandmother and her sisters. I felt a visceral longing for that unique voice. The twangy, distinctive dialect was a world away from the homogenized English I hear and use most days. It made me think about how those dialects are disappearing, and might be preserved as part of my own family history.

But I also happen to believe people's stories are interesting regardless of their utility, a point underscored by a website I've been monitoring recently. Interview Project is just a bunch of interviews. Random folks walking down the street or eating at a restaurant or wherever they were found, were asked to participate; they sat down and told their childhood dreams, how they met their spouses, and things they are most proud of, among various questions posed to them, while being filmed in black and white. Producer David Lynch describes it as a "a road trip where people have been found and interviewed". It's a profoundly simple way to highlight the commonalities we share, and I highly recommend a viewing (you watch each interview individually, which you can choose from a map of locations).

But first, go call a family member and schedule a sit down interview of your own. Make a list of questions (5-10 is sufficient for a 30-45 minute session, when you take into account follow up clarifying questions). Remember, they won't always be here (nor will you).