2 of 3

Write now Article Tools

For many years I have had an obsession with genealogy, family history, tracing my ancestry, my family tree. This obsession, for want of a better word, was fueled by the internet age and the ever increasing wealth of information available online.
I remember my excitement when I found missing branches of that family tree, when I had the cunning and wiles of a private eye in a 1940's movie and searched using only shoddily sewn together scraps of knowledge. A misspelled name, an inaccurate date of birth - but when it all comes together the feeling is overwhelming. It is almost like coming home, visiting a loved family member after many years away.

I asked myself why this search into the past was so important to me. Did I need to feel I belonged somewhere? Was I searching for my own identity as much as wanting to know more about those who had passed before me? I never had any doubts regarding my own origin - my parents are still alive and I have a record of my birth. Was it more that I needed to find who in the family shared and therefore could account for my quirks and eccentricities, my interests, hobbies and passions? Using the nature versus nurture debate, I decided my home life and upbringing could not account in any way towards my literary bent so it stood to reason - it had to be nature. Somewhere, in one of the outer branches, a twig perhaps of the mighty family tree, was a person like me. Great-great-great Aunt Hortense who shocked Victorian society with her wild ways and rebellious character. Unfortunately, the only information that is unearthed when tracing family roots is records. Name, birth date, baptism date, date of marriage, date of death, burial place. I knew nothing of Hortense's personality, yearnings, thoughts and feelings and never will I know these things.
Still I collected the recorded information and pieced together a mighty historical data base of my family, past and present. On showing this magnificent piece of work to an Uncle, proudly, like a small child seeking praise for completing a task, I was told by the said Uncle that the family tree was only as accurate as the morality of the people involved.
My years of hard work, giving myself eye strain over the smallest of fonts, budgeting to pay for records, were now insignificant. I didn't know who of my dastardly great, great, great uncles and grandfathers had impregnated the chambermaid. Did my great, great great grandmother's eyes twinkle mischievously when alone with the roguish footman?
How could my family tree be proven in its accuracy? Other than a belief in the goodness and morals of my ancestors, DNA testing would probably be the only way to prove that the lineage I claim as mine is in fact my lineage. Genetic genealogy has become big business, and I understand that through DNA testing one can know their ancestral origin, paternal line and maternal line. Some genetic genealogists offer DNA tests to determine if you are descended from Genghis Khan or even Thomas Jefferson. There are home based test kits we amateur genealogists can purchase and offer family members to see if we all share the same genetic make-up. I had visions of my ancestors' remains being unearthed and DNA testing carried out, somewhat akin to an episode of a top rating police drama. How far does genetic genealogy take us? To what extent is it an invasion of privacy and a disrespect to those living and dead family members in our need to ascertain our paternal and maternal lines? Where do we draw the line and accept our heritage and leave those skeletons firmly in the closet?

Learn more about this author, Susan Scarr.
Click here to send this author comments or questions.

Add your voice

Know something about Genetics and genealogy: A path to self discovery (a path away from extinction)?
We want to hear your view. Write now!