I-Wish-I-Knew-Syndrome

Meet my parents.

I drove from Wisconsin to Arkansas last summer with my daughter to see my Aunt Irene, a woman I had not seen in more than 30 years. As the last surviving sibling of either my Mom or Dad, I went to her seeking to cure my case of I-Wish-I-Knew-Syndrome.

I coined this condition, which refers to having my desire to know more about my family history coming too late to get the information from them. Like so many people, I was bored to smithereens when my parents tried to tell me about it. At the time, my eyes glossed over and I had drool coming out of the side of my mouth.

And then one day, after I had developed a passion for history and become a personal historian, I realized I was like the cobbler's children who have no shoes. That's why I urge other people to get started on their own family histories. Now.

So, with a smidgen of hope in my heart, I went to see Aunt Irene to learn what I could about my dad by driving with Maggie to Hot Springs, Arkansas. It turned out to be great fun getting to know Aunt Irene again.

I hoped to discover she had photos of my dad as a child. He was the youngest in the family and she was the next in age to him. Before this one, the youngest photo of him was one that I think was taken in his 20s when he was with my Uncle Al on a business trip to Mexico.

She only had the photo above of my parents taken in San Francisco during World War II. But it was a delight to bring it back with me and put it in a frame. I had no idea that my parents ever did the carnival photo thing but from seeing it, I realize that I come by my love of corny photos naturally. Need proof? Look to the right.

What's interesting about family history is it mostly consists of tidbits like the discovery that my parents did fun things prior to my existence (imagine that). Mostly, our parents' or grandparents' stories are not important because they inspired world peace or cured cancer (although I certainly wish they had).

But they explain why we are the way we are. That information is important. Memories and stories about our families can help us understand ourselves, give us strength to go on with life when the going gets rough and amuse the heck out of us.

One day my grandchildren (I don't have them yet and that is NOT a nag) will look at this photo and others of me and think, "Grandma was once that nuts?" And hopefully my kids will say, "She sure was."