In Search of Family
We are the chosen. In each family there is one who seems called to find the ancestors. To put flesh on their bones and make them live again. To tell the family story and to feel that somehow they know and approve. Doing genealogy is not a cold gathering of facts but, instead, breathing life into all who have gone before. We are the story tellers of the tribe. All tribes have one. We have been called, as it were, by our genes. Those who have gone before cry out to us: Tell our story. So, we do. In finding them, we somehow find ourselves. How many graves have I stood before now and cried? I have lost count. How many times have I told the ancestors, "You have a wonderful family; you would be proud of us.". How many times have I walked up to a grave and felt somehow there was love there for me? I cannot say. It goes beyond just documenting facts. It goes to who I am, and why I do the things I do.
The bones here are bones of my bone and flesh of my
flesh. It goes to doing something about it. It goes to pride in what our
ancestors were able to accomplish. How they contributed to what we are
today. It goes to respecting their hardships and losses, their never
giving in or giving up, their resoluteness to go on and build a life for
their family. It goes to deep pride that the fathers fought and some
died to make and keep us a nation. It goes to a deep and immense
understanding that they were doing it for us. It is of equal pride and
love that our mothers struggled to give us birth, without them we could
not exist, and so we love each one, as far back as we can reach. That we
might be born who we are. That we might remember them. So we do. With
love and caring and scribing each fact of their existence, because we
are they and they are the sum of who we are. So, as a scribe called, I
tell the story of my family. It is up to that one called in the next
generation to answer the call and take my place in the long line of
family storytellers. That is why I do my family genealogy, and that is
what calls those young and old to step up and restore the memory or
greet those who we had never known before." It goes to a deep and
immense understanding that they were doing it for us. It is of equal
pride and love that our mothers struggled to give us birth, without them
we could not exist, and so we love each one, as far back as we can
reach. That we might be born who we are. That we might remember them. So
we do. With love and caring and scribing each fact of their existence,
because we are they and they are the sum of who we are. So, as a scribe
called, I tell the story of my family. It is up to that one called in
the next generation to answer the call and take my place in the long
line of family storytellers. That is why I do my family genealogy, and
that is what calls those young and old to step up and restore the memory
or greet those who we had never known before."
by Della M.
Cummings Wright; Rewritten by her granddaughter Dell Jo Ann McGinnis
Johnson; Edited and Reworded by Tom Dunn, 1943.
Herman John Franklin is the father of Robert "Bobby" Franklin. "Bobby" was adopted by his mother's new husband when he was approximately six years old.
"Fred" is the grandfather of Robert "Bobby" Franklin. His parents were Reuben E. Valley and Sarah Ann Trucker.
If you have questions or problems with this site, email the Coordinator. Please to not ask for specfic research on your family.