About a year ago, I began a genealogical quest to find out more about the ancestors on my father’s side of the family. Although an avid genealogist for fifteen years, I spent most of that time concentrating on my maternal lines for my M.F.A. degree thesis, and subsequent book, Three Slovak Women (Gateway Press).
As I started my search, I realized that I had committed what could possibly be the number one sin in genealogy--becoming interested too late (i.e. after the generation who could tell me what I wanted to know had passed away). Well, almost, I thought. There was still my father, who was living with me and who, at seventy-nine, possessed a sharp memory. I had documents, photographs, etc. but there were many unanswered questions. One winter evening, I asked him about his ancestors in Slovakia. When he replied that he knew nothing, I asked, “Didn’t you ever ask your mother or father about their parents or grandparents?” I was stunned by his reply:
“What do I care about those people. They’re dead. I didn’t know them.”
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