I am the oldest of five children. One brother is no longer with us. My brother called and asked if I could help his daughter with a family history project that she was working on for school. “Sure” So he asks the question and I have a blank stare. You would think the oldest would know something. Who gave you that idea?
“I’ll get back to you!” Not the answer my niece was looking for. Where do I start. I remember on my mother side there were three brothers, a sister, my grand fathers name, and his second wife. On my fathers side, there was a brother that died fighting so we could be free, and a sister. I remember his mother, her husband, and my grand father. Where do I start. I really have no information but there are people on both sides of my family that have been doing research into family history. How do I get in touch with them?
In 1959 we migrated west. I remember a 1959 Ford station wagon. You could fold down all the seats in the back and that left just enough room for your legs to hang down, and your face to be level and right between mom and dad in the front seat. Bangor Maine to Wilmington California, I’m thinking we should be there by dinner. Super highway’s, not yet. Fancy hotels, dreamer. Air conditioned car, what is that? Views straight over the cliff on the right side of the car? “Fathaaa, you are to close!!” Two lane roads over the summit. That’s one lane that way and one lane your way. Four year olds don’t remember how hot it is thankfully. My mother never forgot.
To be continued . . .