About two years ago Mike said something about how it bothered him that he didn’t know much about his family past some details about his grandparents. I’ve often thought about my own difficulties in finding out about even my grandmother, whom I’m named after, but whom no one wants to talk about save to say she was a saint. (Only some months ago I found out that she drank–that, like me, she liked whiskey on the rocks–and that she may have drank herself to death.) Like him, it makes me sad not to have more access to the people I came from, or even their stories. I understand that much of it is covered up because it’s ugly (alcoholism, depression, tragic deaths) but I still wish I could know about them and have a stronger sense of history. I remember Ariel having a book about some great-grand relatives of his, explaining their families, their children, and a bit of their life stories. I’d love to end up putting one of those together some decades from now for my great-grand-descendants, in case they ever wonder like I do.
At any rate, here’s a talk I enjoyed about lineages lost (and found), breath, and some messed up psychoanalytic theory.
Race Relations, from Tablet Magazine