Why do we know so little about our ancestors?
Recently, my husband reminded me of a bit of history. Not ancient Roman history. Not even 20th century American history. Nope! It was a piece of historical trivia from my own past. Something which I should have remembered but didn't. This little nugget of personal history affected both of us as a very young, probably too young, married couple. Yet, I'd completely forgotten about it. In fact, even though he reminded me of it, I still don't actually remember it. I'll have to take his word for it. Apparently, we had no health insurance when I gave birth to our firstborn. That's right. We didn't have health insurance. We were twenty years old with no money, no health insurance, and a baby on the way.
My husband had switched jobs not long after we were married even though we were already expecting a baby.
Our new employee insurance didn't cover the upcoming event. However, we managed to save enough money to pay cash for it. In fact, we paid the entire bill out-of-pocket the day I was discharged from the hospital. It was a whopping $800. No, I don't remember that either. My husband took care of the bill, much to the surprise of the billing office in the little local town where we lived. With no help from our parents on either side nor even any offer of help, we pretty well drained our savings account, returning home without an impending bill. Our child may have had parents barely out of puberty with no savings and a grand total of $60 a week income, but by gosh, our first born was not only conceived and delivered but paid for as well.
For the past couple of weeks, this little bit of personal history has been on my mind.
Not just because it happened to me, although I did experience a sense of wonder when I relived the story, but also because as a lifelong history buff, I realized how easy it is to forget — everything. Without someone to keep track of our stories, they risk being lost not just a hundred years from now, but before we grow old and senile. It was a stunning realization actually. One that left me thinking about one of my favorite questions — why don't humans learn from history?
This aha moment led me to remember another aha moment that I'd experienced a few years ago.
One day, I had a sudden realization. Most often people who are interested in family histories, and thus delve into following the long and tedious genealogical trail to their inherited pasts, wait to do so until after their grandparents and parents have passed away. Why don't more people pick the brains of the last two living generations for any remnants of family history? Within their deteriorating brains and bodies dwell fading memories and personal anecdotes that could have entertained the curious family historian to no end, but those conversations are rarely initiated. Thus followed years of research in order to get a clearer picture of one's personal history. I contend, however, that although genealogy is interesting, it's a far cry from the precious memories of the living. You might end up with a family tree, but you'll never know how these individuals who are represented by last names, marriages, births, and dates felt about their lives on this planet. There's not a stitch of information garnered from genealogical research that gives us an inside view of the hope, pain, fear, and suffering each person encountered. No, that's all kept buried in the past.
We run the risk of not getting the full story even if we do talk to parents and grandparents, however.
Either they've forgotten a piece of historical trivia from their own past like I did or they prefer to keep it buried. Pieces of their past were intentionally buried long before they died. Thus little to no lessons can be garnered from their experiences. The emotions produced from these valuable, life changing or debilitating experiences may be carried in our genes, but we are left with little understanding as to why. Maybe there's a touch of reluctance to have these in-depth trips down memory lane with our parents and grandparents because we have a culture that assigns no value to talking about things. In fact, the complete opposite is often the case. There's a vast array of no-talk rules dominating our social interactions. Many topics are completely off limits.
I contend that history matters.
Information gleaned from even the tiniest bits of history can inform our personal choices and impact our perceptions of life. To learn from collective and personal histories is probably rarer than I want to believe, however. Instead, humans have a tendency to repeat history rather than learn from history. From the most elevating stories to the most devastating, within two generations, most will be forgotten. I wish I had not only spoken more often to my grandparents and parents about their personal histories but had also recorded the conversations. Sadly, it's too late now. Furthermore, I find myself forgetting pieces of my own life. I realized that I've never told my two grown children about being a young pregnant mother in 1970 without insurance. How could I if I no longer remembered. So many stories down through the ages — gone forever. Would any of these stories have changed the way we think about life?
We'll never know.
