Dan Finds His Family

I am an American.

I don't mean that in an "I rule the world"-Toby Keith-sort of way. I mean it in the simplest, cultural sense. I am an American. I was born in California. My parents were born in Oregon and Illinois. If we go farther back, we can say I'm German, but no distinguishable German culture exists in my life. I am simply an American. Hamburgers, apple pie, baseball, and Playboy. I am the standard, upper-middle class offspring. I received a liberal arts education in college, I have a big screen tv, and I still hold a dream of someday being famous for doing little to nothing.

Lately, though, I have been lamenting my lack of a heritage. I'm so far removed from where I came from that I have nothing to hold on to as a map to guide me forward. Not only do I lack a heritage in the grand, worldly, "this is the village which spawned my clan" sense of the word, but both of my parents moved away from their families relatively early on, so I don't have the familial sense of heritage either. We visited the grandparents on Christmas or Thanksgiving a few years, but mostly it was just the nuclear family sitting around the table. That has seemingly translated into an inability to keep up with family and friends, explaining my "out of sight, out of mind" mentality.

I'm not kidding. I'm really bad. Right now I owe calls to my Dad, my former professor who has been making an effort to catch up, not to mention a card to my dear friend Susan (or at least an email). I generally call my dad's mom about once a year (although there was a stretch of about 5 years when I didn't talk to her at all. She sent me cards offering a reward for proof of life). I doubt that I've talked to my mom's parents since my high school graduation. Actually, I spoke to my grandpa a few years back on Christmas and he asked if I was my father*. Facebook has made it easier to feign connections with my older sister, but I haven't talked to her lately either (sorry, Dusti). As for my step-siblings, I know nothing more than my my dad has relayed via small talk in his visits every few months. I am horrible at maintaining family relationships and friendships.

But I feel bad about it, because it's just another way in which I'm isolated. I recently spent an afternoon with my friend Sri and her sister Paavani**, both of whom are full of not only heritage, but quite attached to their family as well. And having, in the past, seen Sri perform traditional Indian dancing in full Indian garb, it kind of made me feel a small empty hole where my heritage should be. I want to be able to wear traditional clothing and feel legitimate. But I would look just as out of place wearing a sari as I would in a "Kiss Me, I'm Irish" t-shirt. I'm like a man without a history.

That is, until recently.

While looking for some posters in my mother's garage, I stumbled across a box of baby books. Finding the box in poor condition due to water damage, I took it upstairs to go through it. While my baby book seems to have sopped up the most liquid, on the upside I rediscovered a book someone had made a while back that documented my lineage along one trunk of my family tree to 1802. Another document within the book showed a different trunk followed it down from a split in the tree, adding to the information I have, although not taking me any farther than the limit set at my great-great-great-great grandmother and grandfather. I took the book home and spent an hour or so inputting the information into my Geni account. I noted the dates of birth (and death), as well as marriage dates. And as I did, I felt a sense of pride. It's bittersweet, though, as they are still just names to me, nothing more. There aren't any smiles to put with them, or funny stories, or memories. I know they're my family, but I don't know who they are. And I've been wondering how I could solve this. How do you reconnect not only with your family members who you haven't shared a Christmas with in ages, but with the ones you didn't even know existed up until a week ago?

And today it hit me.

I received an email from Geni, notifying me of an upcoming event within my family. July 16th is the 44th wedding anniversary of Dale and Margaret. You know about as well as I did who these two people are, but I looked them up on my tree and found that Dale is my great-grandmother's brother's son, making him my first cousin twice removed. On a whim, I did a search for him on a people search site and found a list of three possible addresses and phone numbers. All I need to do to connect with someone new is call them up. Should I? Should I get in touch with family members I've never met, wish them a happy anniversary or a happy birthday? What do I even say? Is this the way to gaining a heritage of my own?

*Understand, my parents had been divorced for at least 15 years at the time, each having remarried since then, and both living on opposite sides of the country from each other, but somehow it made more sense that my dad would be at Christmas dinner with my mom than for me to be using the telephone.

**Paavani is my friend, too, I just wanted to subtly point out that they are related.