Mapping my roots, for better or for worse.
Being unemployed has given me more time than I know what to do with. During the summer, I decided to start putting that time to use, other than frying my sanity on wedding planning, by mapping out the genealogies of my mother's parents.
Now, I was pretty familiar with my maternal grandfather's family. However, the Frink family's details were all oral, so keeping things straight was kind of a bitch. I created a Word document that outlined the history back to 16th century England and it includes all of us in the current generations, including my younger cousins.
My grandmother's history was a tad more elusive, but when I figured out that my great-grandfather was born here in Vermont and not in Quebec, Canada as my mother and grandmother had thought, it came together fairly smoothly. Eventually, his family traces back to 19th century Ireland before the trail goes cold.
My great-grandmother's family, however, snaked back so much further. One of her female ancestors unlocked a myriad of royal lineages, one that stretched back to the B.C.s. It was just nuts. Like the Whalley line (my maternal grandfather's mother), my great-grandmother Greene was descended from Charlemagne. Actually, most of the eastern United States could likely trace their lineages back to this man. He and his wives bred worse than rabbits.
My mother was happy with all this family history, but I was only partially appeased. It only represented half of my genetic line. I wanted to know about the other half of my gene pool, but for that, I had to cross over to the dark side.
My father or as I call him, the sperm donor, has a reputation of sleeping around. Not only has he been married three times, but rumor has it that he has a slew of illegitimate children. I am one of those illegitimacies. I'm not bothered by it, per se, but not knowing him one on one has made finding things out a tad difficult. About three weeks ago, I bit the bullet and tried, one last time, to find where his family came from.
I had to try a different tactic, though. I knew it was no use to try to find the line via birthdates and birthplaces for I didn't have that info and my guesses had all proved fruitless. So, I went on FamilySearch.org and tried looking up records, instead.
I finally found what I was looking for! I found the sperm donor's birthplace and birthdate through a marriage record and, also, the names and birthplaces of his parents. Six hours later, I had exhausted each branch. HIs mother's family traces back to French Canada. His father's family goes back to County Sligo, Ireland. That would have been the only thing I would have asked if he ever had the guts to acknowledge me.
You know he lives, like, two towns away right?
He lived one town away for most of my youth.
And it gets more pathetic.
He works at Bond Auto in Bethel. Fred goes there, often, to get parts for the cars. Apparently, they used to chat quite a bit. Well, during a visit, last year, Fred mentioned that he was getting parts for his fiance's car. Fred was asked who is fiance was and Fred answered. Since then, whenever Fred goes into that establishment, the sperm donor literally flees out the back door.
I wish I was kidding. Really. I mean, this is supposedly a 65-year-old man we're talking about, here.
So, I found the other half of where I come from. Now, I am in the process of linking the two halves, an ardurous process, and I'm not done, yet.
The hubby's family needs mapping, next. :)
Now, I was pretty familiar with my maternal grandfather's family. However, the Frink family's details were all oral, so keeping things straight was kind of a bitch. I created a Word document that outlined the history back to 16th century England and it includes all of us in the current generations, including my younger cousins.
My grandmother's history was a tad more elusive, but when I figured out that my great-grandfather was born here in Vermont and not in Quebec, Canada as my mother and grandmother had thought, it came together fairly smoothly. Eventually, his family traces back to 19th century Ireland before the trail goes cold.
My great-grandmother's family, however, snaked back so much further. One of her female ancestors unlocked a myriad of royal lineages, one that stretched back to the B.C.s. It was just nuts. Like the Whalley line (my maternal grandfather's mother), my great-grandmother Greene was descended from Charlemagne. Actually, most of the eastern United States could likely trace their lineages back to this man. He and his wives bred worse than rabbits.
My mother was happy with all this family history, but I was only partially appeased. It only represented half of my genetic line. I wanted to know about the other half of my gene pool, but for that, I had to cross over to the dark side.
My father or as I call him, the sperm donor, has a reputation of sleeping around. Not only has he been married three times, but rumor has it that he has a slew of illegitimate children. I am one of those illegitimacies. I'm not bothered by it, per se, but not knowing him one on one has made finding things out a tad difficult. About three weeks ago, I bit the bullet and tried, one last time, to find where his family came from.
I had to try a different tactic, though. I knew it was no use to try to find the line via birthdates and birthplaces for I didn't have that info and my guesses had all proved fruitless. So, I went on FamilySearch.org and tried looking up records, instead.
I finally found what I was looking for! I found the sperm donor's birthplace and birthdate through a marriage record and, also, the names and birthplaces of his parents. Six hours later, I had exhausted each branch. HIs mother's family traces back to French Canada. His father's family goes back to County Sligo, Ireland. That would have been the only thing I would have asked if he ever had the guts to acknowledge me.
You know he lives, like, two towns away right?
He lived one town away for most of my youth.
And it gets more pathetic.
He works at Bond Auto in Bethel. Fred goes there, often, to get parts for the cars. Apparently, they used to chat quite a bit. Well, during a visit, last year, Fred mentioned that he was getting parts for his fiance's car. Fred was asked who is fiance was and Fred answered. Since then, whenever Fred goes into that establishment, the sperm donor literally flees out the back door.
I wish I was kidding. Really. I mean, this is supposedly a 65-year-old man we're talking about, here.
So, I found the other half of where I come from. Now, I am in the process of linking the two halves, an ardurous process, and I'm not done, yet.
The hubby's family needs mapping, next. :)