Loading ...Our daughter has gone off to college, and that has brought mixed joy and sadness, but one unexpected recipient of sadness is my father. Mojo and I had long planned to have another child, this time by surrogacy. My father has been more excited about this than either of us. I’m his only male child and he desperately wants to pass along that Y chromosome. But now that we have a child-free existence, we’ve put those plans on hold. My father is crushed. So for his birthday I decided if I couldn’t give him his genetic future, I’d give him his genetic past.
Mojo and I have joined a genealogy site and have been pouring through old census reports, marriage reports, immigrant passenger lists, and assorted whatnots from the past. We also have sent off to have our DNA checked out to see “where we come from.” Of course, Mojo isn’t related to my father (as far as I know) but I am, so this expensive little DNA test will elucidate the genetic journey that got him where he is today — alive. (That is, as long as my mother doesn’t have any long kept secrets regarding my parentage!) My father is very excited about these prospects, even more so than either of us. (This, of course, by no means has made him give up on trying to get that hoped for male grandchild).
I already know some of my/his genetic background. I know that all my parents and grandparents were white. But I also know that my great great great grandmother was Creek. She married my great great great grandfather and then promptly was ordered out of Georgia on the Trail of Tears. My great grandfather then hid in the swamps of South Georgia to avoid the forced exodus, staying in the state, trying to pass himself off as white, and eventually raising a family there. I also know that another great something grandparent was Cherokee.
Of course, the genetic tests will not say 20% Cherokee, 10% Creek, and a whole lotta white, but they will give some ethnic information. Can’t wait to see what it says.
And of course, the census reports don’t have this information either. All they have is names, ages, whether people could read or write, occupation, and occasionally whether or not they were “English.” I’m not sure I want to know the story behind that last question.
So what have I learned from these old documents? I’ve learned that every single man in my family, no matter which line they come from, shared the same job.
They were all farmers.
Oh, sure — every once in a while they’d suddenly become “Carpenters” or “Sawmill workers” but by the next census, it was right back to farmer. I guess if they built a barn, they could become a “carpenter,” but it was the red earth of Georgia that kept calling them back. So that was the men — what about the women? Not surprisingly for the 19th century, most them were “house wife” or “keeping house,” but some of my female ancestors were also listed as “Farmer.” So I guess the whole family got involved!
I also found out that my ancestors were, well, fertile. My paternal grandfather was the 21st of 22 children. He used to say it was so that his father could have enough people to work on those farms.
I guess I shouldn’t be surprised. What the hell else were you going to do in South Georgia?
And now, no one in my family is a farmer. Not a single person. Not even me. I mean, how you gonna keep us on the farm once we saw Paree?
Buy me a beer!
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This entry was posted on Thursday, September 6th, 2007 at 6:35 pm and is filed under seminal. You can follow any responses to this entry through the RSS 2.0 feed. You can leave a response, or trackback from your own site.
To tell you the truth, I can’t blame you for putting the breeding on hold. Hell my ex is doing enough of it to make up for everyone on earth who has decided not to breed.
I know I once offered you my eggs (not my womb - I’m not carrying anyone’s kid. But my eggs), but it looks like they’re finally running out. Thank the gods. Not that I wouldn’t want you to have them… I mean, I don’t want’em. Sure you could have them, but really I’ll be so fucking glad when the stench of fertility is off me and I can relax and enjoy my Crone years.
its cool you can give your dad his genetic past. And geneology is interesting, even for folks whose families are all farmers. I’d like to know my geneology, but being adopted thats sort of difficult. Though we do know my biological dad was not a farmer, but a gameshow host.
I was thinking of you with this genealogy thing, and how you are adopted and all. The genetic testing you could do, to see where your ancestors migrate and when, but goodness knows, it is expensive.
I had thought about doing it when I first heard about it and then said, “They want how much?” But I figured it was okay to spend the money if I were doing it for my dad.
And a gameshow host is much more exciting than a farmer. A male one at least.
Them lady farmers seem much more interesting.
Them lady farmers do seem kinda interesting. I do know my adopted family has a lotta farming in our history. A a bit o’ mining. And some thievin’. And some lesbianin’. And one flapper in the family. Lesbian flapper. None of that is as glamorous as my gameshow hostin’ bio-fam though.
So what brought on the decision to postpone the procreation? Is it just wanting to spend some time together? I think you and Mojo need a little time for just each other and yourselves.
And how’s the girl doing at college? Is she liking it fine?
We just need some time with the two of us again before we decide on bringing in another child. And I think that if we do one, we should probably do two. I think it’s easier on the parents if there are two of them — they can play with each other. Or fight with each other. Either way, gives the parents some down time!
And she still seems to be enjoying it tremendously. No grades yet. We’ll see if she still enjoys it after that. But right now, she’s loving it.
I’d offer to babysit but… no. You probably wouldn’t want me to anyway.
Why won’t it be quiet? I think its broken. Try hitting it with a hammer.
I’m glad to hear the girl’s enjoying herself. I figure she would be. Geminis just lurve gettin’ away from the parents(even though we love them).
Ha- yes, well, we have decided to postpone, and with the way economics are going both nationally and personally, it may be indefinite. The surrogacy process in not only unpredictable but also extraordinarily expensive. We’re talking new BMW expensive. Even if we somehow won the lottery, we do want a break, but even when the break is over the likelihood of our being able to afford another one is very slim.
That aside, the family history research is interesting. I remarked to Richard that it also gives us an excuse to talk to our families about something other than the same old boring crap we always talk about.
Just found my first familial physician. Of course, he was physicianing in 1880. Probably a lot of leeches, cupping, and bleeding. Perhaps some boiling mercury vapor thrown in for good measure.
oh, and some trapanning! please, can i imagine him trapanning merrily away on folk?
family history can be terribly interesting, even if you’re not really into the genealogy all that much. it seems once you start digging into that, all the REALLY interesting stories come out.
shall we start taking up a “new BMW/new kid” collection? i bet you could even rack up quite a stash with an eBay store.
my internet hates my emails right now. commenting on other people’s blogs is my only way to communicate. *sob*
*smoke signals*
trepanning. trEEEEEEEEEpanning.
sorry. i’m blaming it on friday.
Oh noes! If yer internets hates yer emails, get new internets! I’ve writed you! I gets no answers?
Trepanning - what fun! But that boiling mercury vapour *deep inhale* nothin’ like it!
i has ansirred!
(i getted new intranets. iz steelin from nayburrs. hee hee.)
Ah the days when some boiling mercury was good for what ails ya.
When I was in 7th grade, our homeroom teacher was the chemistry teacher. During homeroom, he would pour mercury on the table, and we’d all play with it. No gloves, nothing. And sometimes we had homeroom in the lunchroom, and he’d just pour it straight on the lunchroom tables. Nothing kicks up a hamburger like some good old heavy metals!
Ah, education in Georgia. Nothing like it.
now, you can just have some tuna.
Oh Richard, you’re making it sound like Georgia was the only place in the world where kids played with mercury, but in those days, everyone was doing it. And it WAS educational, even if it did taint the burgers.
We did lots of things back then you can’t do now. Remember how easy it was to get drugs?
*wistful sigh*
‘Tis true!
He also used to let us play with the asbestos. We’d tear up the sheets so everyone could have some. Little bits of asbestos flying through the air to make everyone have a little asbestosis.
Good times.
eh, we used to have real monkey bars, lead paint, and lawn darts, too. kids these days is soft. soft, i tell ya!
Monkey bars! Often over poured concrete to make those Monkey Bars sturdy. We had so many kids breaking arms and legs at recess. It was almost like seeing who could actually survive!
that’s as it should be. i played tag without protection just like everybody else did, and i made it.
We had the monkey bars, the lead paint, the asbestos. Hell, I once TASTED some asbestos.
The reason that we’ve all survived this long is because they turned us into radioactive mutants at an early age.
huh. radioschmativity, eh? maybe THAT’S why people always think i’m at least 10 years younger than i am. *grr, argh*