Time Travel
Clarence has been talking about his interest in geneology. I can appreciate the fascination and at the same time get a little dizzy. My non-linear brain doesn't do well with family trees, or at least upper branches. Like anybody else, I get some pleasure from knowing I have ancestors who at least wandered on the periphery of American history (and I do), but knowing exactly who my great-great-great-great-great-grandfather on my father's side was doesn't exactly hold my attention. I don't sense much of a connection. First of all, he's probably dead. Secondly, he didn't have Internet access. So I don't find a lot in common.
Further down the tree, though, interests me a lot. My mother's side of the family produced a fair amount of musicians, for example, amateur and professional, and we've got some of those around today, too. My paternal great-grandfather was a Methodist preacher, from what I understand. There are echoes, then, from the 19th century that still bounce around here in the 21st.
And I see some patterns, interesting patterns. Looking backwards to my grandparents' generation and then down the line a bit, two things have always stood out: Many married young, and many had small families.
Not all, especially as we spread along. And "young" and "small" are relative terms; for all I know these fit into the contemporary averages. Just looking around in my little world, though, this is what I see.
Both sets of my grandparents married in the middle of the Great Depression, putting them in their late teens or early 20s (I know I could look this up or ask Mom, but in general). Between the four of them (let's call them Generation A), they had five children, three girls and two boys, over 13 years (1936-1949).
Generation B all married, two of them to each other (of course; I am here for a reason), and most of them fairly young. My parents were 18, in fact, and doing some reckless math here I think my aunt may have been 17 (I'm sure she'll correct me if I'm wrong).
These four Gen B couples didn't quite reproduce themselves: They produced a total of seven offspring (Generation C), four girls and three boys, again in a 13-year span (1956-1969). Since two of them were my siblings, and one was me, I have only four first cousins. My wife, on the other hand, has, I think, 800, but then she's Texan and the Cowboys need their fans.
Of the seven of us, six married at or under the age of 25, and one never married (but she had babies anyway; it happens). And we did some improvement on the preceding generations: Gen C begat 16 Gen Ds, although over a longer time span, 1981 to 2003 (if my cousin, Jay, hadn't waited until he was 35 we'd have gotten close to that 13-year thing. I'm just saying).
Yes, there's a point here, but you've probably stopped reading by now so I feel pretty free to just wander on a bit.
Given the young marriages, three of my four grandparents lived long enough to see several great-grandchildren, even though they all died at a (again) relatively young age (not something I want to think about). As for Generation B, they range from the mid-50s to the late 60s, all still alive and kicking and apparently doing well. Gen C goes from 36 to 49 in age, and Gen D straddles a toddler and a 23-year-old with 14 others filling the ranks in between.
Generation A is gone, the last dying in 1990. Generation B has lost one original member (my father), and two original spouses (one of those Gen Bs re-married; we're not extraordinary in terms of typical families as far as divorce). Everybody else is still around, so 4+7+16=27. Add in six spouses plus two ex-spouses who are still part of the family in some way, and we get 35. Or I get 35. Let me try
(Ignore this, for family members only: Carleen, Maxine, Ron, Peggy, JimG, MaryS, Bill, Ann, Maureen, Chuck, Julie, Jeanne, JimW, Natalie, Margaret, Hernan, Jay, Angela, MaryF, Cory, Victoria, Holly, Beth, Ben, Christopher, Nicole, Faith, Max, Luke, John, Brendan, Ryan, Taylor, Cody, Madelynne)
Yep. 35.
Four generations. Sixty-six years. Currently a fair mixture of North and Central America, and roots that are mostly Northern European, but all here, all American, and all family.
When my sister got married, in 1985, all of us (who were born by then) were there. So my maternal grandparents, nudging their 50th wedding anniversary, wanted a picture. It's around here somewhere, a nice wide shot of two older people with cascading generations. Beth was a baby, for example. There would be more, but it was nice for them, to see where they were and where they went, and what they were, ultimately, responsible for.
All of us were there, too, at their 50th, one year later.
When my father was diagnosed with cancer, he didn't want to hear predictions. He just wanted assurance that he would live to see his 50th wedding anniversary, and he dreamed the same dream. His creations would be there, cascading into the back rows. The oncologist assured him that there was not going to be a problem.
It was a lie, of course, but a good lie. My father had eight months to live and love, and would miss his 49th by two months, but you live longer with intact dreams, I believe this.
Thirty of us were there at his funeral, missing three kids and two adults only. So his dream, if different and awkward and sad, came true all the same, more or less.
Their 50th wedding anniversary passed, then, a couple of weeks ago. One of those things that we expect and imagine and then never happens. The first moon colony. The cure for cancer. President Kerry. Others.
One of the reasons I can't deal with genealogy is the variables. My sister, for example, married a man with two children by another marriage, one of whom was the product of another marriage (on his spouse's part), both of whom have had children of their own. They're part of my extended family, of course, but filling in the blanks has never been part of my strength. So my sister has been a grandmother for several years and then again is not, in some sense. I could fall down now any time.
But I think, sometimes, that 35 people, as spread out as we are, could find the time and funds to get together at least once, to see where we've been and where we were. Probably not going to happen; we're mobile and different and distant.
The reason for all of this, though, is one of those equations that fill humor/science/math books. In this case, it's this: How many people do you need together at one time to assure that two of them will share the same birthday? It's a math joke, an odds trick. Logic tells us 366. Math professionals tell us it's somewhere in the 20s. I don't know why; I did once but I forgot.
I'm willing to speculate, though, that of the 30 members of my young, 66-year-old family at the funeral, none shared the same birthday, math class dismissed. I could be wrong.
But I'm almost positive none shared my birthday, July 26. I think I would know.
And this is really what I want to say.
My father would have rejoiced (or did, or was, or is) at the gathering of family members to see him off. We were all there, shivering in the cold and carrying his coffin and hugging and catching up. And if there's any justice in the afterlife, he would have known something else. It would be complicated, and awkward, and unexpected, and fraught with difficulties, but he would have rejoiced all the same. As I did, and do, and happy day Launa, tomorrow, February 26, 2005, your seven months on this earth have been marked by many but I don't forget, I won't, and I never will.
GENERATION E
Launa Sigars, born 7/26/2004
6:58:13 PM 
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