When I was a boy I had two aunts who were interested in family history. Every family gathering they would bring along big albums with photos and genealogy charts. I used to sit and pore over those. I often wondered what became of them. One of the aunts passed on years ago and the other has Alzheimers now. She lives just down the street from my parents. I stopped by over the weekend and my cousin who helps take care of her had found the books in her garage and had them all spread out on a table.

It had been many years since I had seen the books. There were a lot more of them than I ever realized. I took a couple home with me. One of the albums is filled with old letters. Some from uncles who were soldiers in Germany and Italy in WW2 and many from my grandmother to her daughters. The other book has little essays written by one of the aunts about each of her brothers and sisters, with stories about their childhood on the farm.

It was a big family and my mother was on the younger end of it. Some of her brothers had children who were already grown up and married when I was just a little boy. It was hard for me to comprehend all the relationships and what the grownups were talking about. Now I have charts to explain it all and letters to read. All the mysteries that I didn’t understand about the grownup world are going to be revealed at last.