I have long felt myself to be a pretty ordinary person in most respects. True, I am what society considers weird, but even in those circles I am a pretty middle-of-the-road type. I assume that my ancestors were similar. Of course, there are many acts of individual heroism and villainy in even the "ordinary" lives of the people who never make the history books, and indeed I almost prefer those stories, because sometimes you see history better in seeing the effects it had on the peasants and the ordinary working man and the foot soldiers.
Except sometimes you really are related to the people who are in the history books.
I am "Alexandra" the daughter of Cathy Heiden Stewart.
Cathy Heiden Stewart (1947-living) is the daughter of
Dorothy Sizelove Heiden(1915-2001) is the daughter of
Dennis Livingstone Sizelove (1893-1963) is the son of
Mary Livingston Furgerson (1874-1911) is the daughter of
Livingston Furgerson (1823-1877) is the son of
Frances Isbell (1791-1871) is the daughter of
Discretion Howard (1764-1848)is the daughter of
Prudence Sater (1743-1822) is the daughter of
Dorcas Towson (1712-1772) is the daughter of
Catherine Ellen Russell (1689-1735) is the daughter of
Elizabeth Cromwell (1654-1711) is the daughter of
Henry Cromwell (1628-1673) is the son of....
Oliver Cromwell.
Yes, THAT Oliver Cromwell.
Oliver Cromwell by Samuel Cooper, original held in the National Gallery of London.
The one that was Lord Protector of England. Signed the death warrant of Charles I.
We didn't have any family tradition about THAT.
I was surprised, of course. I suppose that's the sort of thing you consider a genealogical plum. It's interesting. I promptly went and read all about the English Civil War, of course.
And since at the best I think you could say he was doing what he thought was right at the time, I am not boasting about being his descendent. I think I was even a little annoyed. I mean, if I had to have a famous ancestor, could it have been someone who isn't declaimed as someone who committed genocide and regicide? I mean, really!
I am working on a historical novel, and taped across the top of my monitor is a quote from Harold Pinter: "The past is a different country. They do things differently there." I keep having to remember that as I write, and I think it becomes relevant here, for my own processing of the actions of my ancestor.
I think I can honor him for having the personal courage to act on his convictions. I don't have to agree with his actions, and I don't, as a matter of fact. But it also means that the resonances of those actions to the present day also must be acknowledged and, where I can contribute to healing the wounds, I feel a call to do so.
My husband has no such notables in his family tree. A few people who bumped against the edges of history, of course, but no one in the books like Cromwell. But instead he has another story to tell, of a picture and a chest.
When they cleaned out his grandmother's house after she died, there was a picture in an album, beside the other black and white pictures of people in cars, kids with dogs, and men and women holding hands. It was of a town square with a great oak in the center, and black men hanging from the tree. And there, clearly visible, my husband's grandfather, one of his sons holding his coat. Upstairs in the chest in the attic were his Klan robes.
My husband was very troubled by this, but yet hopeful. Because my husband, the grandson of the man who hung men for being black voted for Obama, not because he was black, but because he seemed to be the best man for the job, and faces down his learned racism and intolerances on a daily basis to become the man he wants to be. We learn from our ancestors, but we are not our ancestors, and we do have a choice about taking up their stories, good or bad, and following the plot laid out for us.
And so I suppose my final emotion on knowing this about myself is a shake of the head and a bemused comment that, "life's pretty strange sometimes". Because fundamentally it doesn't matter, and I'm glad for that.