Growing up I had a strong sense of family. Not only did I have both parents, but an older brother and a younger sister. Yes, I was the "forgotten" middle child. Three of our grandparents were still living. We had aunts, uncles, and cousins, as well as great aunts and uncles all whom we visited often and knew quite well. Where did we come from? Mom told us a few tidbits, Grandma told us a few tales of her childhood (as we rolled our eyes in boredom). We didn't ask for more. I guess it just didn't seem important. Oh, how I wish I had taken the time to really listen, to ask for the stories of my ancestors.
Genealogy or family history was not part of the school curriculum as it is today in most schools. Had it been, I may have paid more attention to history classes and started my genealogical journeys much earlier.
Early in 1980, Grandma received a letter from a Swedish cousin looking for information on her late husband and his descendants. She wasn't going to answer, and had several lame excuses why not. I was fascinated and thought he at least deserved an answer to his inquiry. Grandma gave me the letter and thus my genealogical journey began when I was 26.
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