The other day I casually joked about my Icelandic-patterned sweater reflecting my “Icelandic roots”, to which Roger responded, “So, what are your roots, anyway?”
Well…as far as I know, it’s mainly German on my father’s side and Irish on my mother’s, and that’s about the extent of my knowledge on the subject. I have to admit that I simply have never had a great deal of interest in the whole genealogy thing, which does make me feel slightly guilty at times, but the whole thing of being able to trace one’s family tree back to Ye Olde Worlde and to the tiny village in East Glumpferjonton where one’s great-great-great-great-grand-blah-blah was a seven-fingered cobbler who fathered eleven children before succumbing to cholera at 36 has never really been an activity that much appealed to me. Which is weird, I admit, because I also have a lifelong love of history and the deeds of the people that populate it.
I know that Americans tend to be very interested in such things–maybe that’s because our country is still relatively young, and in almost all cases you don’t have to go too many generations back to get to people living in Germany or wherever, and I know that this sort of thing commands tremendous interest for members of the Mormon church (I’m not really sure why, but I suspect it has something to do with their doctrine of being able to “save” people, i.e., baptizing them into the Mormon church, after they’re dead). For me, though…I can take or leave it, and I usually end up leaving it. Go figure!
How about you, readers? Are you interested in your genealogies?