Have you ever sat back to consider that the lives your parents, grandparents, aunts, and uncles lived is a form of history?
The world they grew up in is a different world than the one we are living in today. Even as recent as the 70s and 80s. That world no longer exists. I am fascinated by this. How did the world operate before I came to be? What were things like before I existed?
How often do we sit down to talk to our elders to glean wisdom from their lives?
Sitting at their feet and listening is the most accessible research we can do on our own personal history.
We learn more about the storyteller and ourselves as our lives are wrapped up in theirs.
Coursing through your DNA is the experiences and the trauma of your ancestors. Wouldn’t it make sense to learn more about their story and, as a result, learn more about yourself?
I was not a fan of history in school. It didn’t intrigue me at all, and I found it boring. Passing was easy. All you had to do was read material that was never explained and memorize dates with no meaning.
I was in the second grade when I first learned about Emmett Till. His story stuck with me because it was the only form of Black history I had learned in school until High School, and even then, it all started with the Civil Rights Movement and Dr. King. It was as if our people didn’t exist before sit-ins.
It felt like we were still being enslaved, in a way, dehumanized through omission. A people forgotten, our legacies erased.
I only became curious when I learned more about my people. Black history intrigued me. The things we’ve invented, the struggles we’ve overcome, the way we just keep bouncing back.
When people can see themselves, something amazing happens. I didn’t care about history until I could see myself. My forefathers’ life piqued my interest, and out of that curiosity, I read.
The rest is, well, history.
The PBS Blog 
Young people don’t listen, nor question, their elders enough. How I wish I’d asked the questions that I now want answered when my grandparents and parents’ generations were still around.
Now I’m part of the older generation, and my grandchildren are just like I was at their age.
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So true and sad. We miss so much not listening to our elders.
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Since reaching the ripe old age I have of 91, I have grown ever more interested in the past. Not just mine; black or white…rich or poor, but general history. ‘Growing up’ is time consuming: the curiosity and excitement of becoming a teenager and then an adult, love, marriage, motherhood earning a living…business, travel, etc., When’s the time to ‘`ponder’ and wonder? How lucky to reach a time when we can really think about our and our family’s pasts!
I wrote one ‘Memoir’ way back, which was hugely satisfying, but then – while only a member of the ‘hoi polloi’ – I had been lucky in parents and life, even tho’ there were a few ‘mini mountains’ to climb… I recommend writing, either a Memoir or Autobiography to anyone interested in their and their family’s history. Depending, of course, on the history itself, it can sometimes surprise you! Good luck. Wishing you a healthy, happy New Year. Sincerely Joy Lennick
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Thanks for sharing Joy!
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