Recently, I was sitting in church, and the subject of Facebook came up. This didn't surprise me; there are any number of people for whom regular visits to Facebook are something of a religious experience. The discussion, as far as I was concerned, was going swimmingly, primarily because I have made more than my share of offerings at the Facebook altar.
However, the dear 70-something lady sitting next to me was clearly unhappy with the direction the discussion had taken. This is a woman who has dedicated her golden years to the passionate gathering of family names and dates, all with an eye to taking that information to the temple for work to be done in behalf of those individuals. It should be noted that, due to her love of family history work, every sentence that passes her lips ends with the word "temple." I'm pretty sure that if you offered her a drink, she'd take a Shirley -- you guessed it.
Her comment went something like this: "It's fine to have some fun on that book thing, but you need to balance it with doing genealogy."
Now, I'm an excellent mind-reader. Just ask my husband. He'll pick up the television remote, and I'll say, "I perceive that you're about to take our son to get his hair cut." And he'll say, "Why, that's absolutely right."
It's a gift.
So I glanced around at the under-30 crowd in the room, and telepathically heard their response to this comment. It sounded something like this...
...zzzzzzzzzz.
My daughter's response was more complex. It was "Grrrrr .... internal eye-roll ... text blasphemous comment to all my friends."
Fortunately I confiscated her phone before she could act on that last bit of inspiration.
Here's the thing: In many cases, genealogists cut from more traditional cloth are passionate about their research. The more names, dates, birthplaces, marriages, and number of children they can find, the more exciting their work is for them.
They may well spend hours online, but they're not posting status updates. They're digging, digging, digging - and achieving remarkable results.
Let's set them on one side of the room, near my church neighbor.
However, on the other side of the room is an entire generation that uses blogs, Facebook, Twitter, Google, and even good old fashioned e-mail to essentially tell their family stories. They're posting pictures, writing captions, 'tagging' family and friends, relating cute little anecdotes about their kids or discussing the perils of joining the PTA or exchanging recipes - all without benefit of chart or group sheet.
And it seems as though there is a giant gulf between the two sides. "Don't tell me my time on
that book thing is wasted," one side says. "I learn and share more about those I care about in 30 minutes than you could ever pick up in your dusty old archives."
"Ha!" sniffs the other side. "What good do those stories do anyone if the vital statistics aren't recorded someplace permanent and accessible?"
And because the teacher has handed out mini Snickers bars at the beginning of class, I'm sitting in the middle of these two groups, obliviously unwrapping my treat and contriving ways to stuff more into my scripture tote.
Finally, my daughter elbows me and insists that I pass the basket of candy along and referee the snark-rumble blossoming all around me.
"Glabies, glabies..." I say. Then after a big swallow, I start again. "Ladies, ladies," I say. "Put away those shivs and stop singing 'When You're a Jet You're a Jet All the Way'. There's no single right way to do personal and family history."
I turn to the researchers: "Those names and dates are essential, because that's what we take to the temple. But how much more enjoyable might it be to discover that your seven-greats grandmother once robbed a stagecoach using a knitting needle and an oversized chunk of horehound? Stories are what we use to bring those names to life. You don't love names, you love people."
Then I turn to the social media gals: "And as for you, don't go sneering at the work these genealogists do. Believe it or not, it
matters that someone found your great, great grandmother's brother who died in infancy and the only one to record the date was the milkman."
Honestly, it's time we all learned to get along. Between the umpteen bazillion resources we now have available to us to research and tell our families' stories and the near-constant access most of us have to mini Snickers bars, there is no reason why we shouldn't be able to cover all of our bases.
A great place to come together, of course, is the
Story at Home conference in March. We'll call it the Camp David of family history work. Or maybe not.
Now stop squabbling, or I'm breaking out the knitting needles.
Contributed to MMB by DeNae Handy, who in the interest of full disclosure, does not knit.
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