Panic: Genealogy Gone... Wrong?

Recently, the neighbor kids were over at my house as they often are. They really are like family, and my house is like a second home to them. Their parents are there for me when I need help, and I try to do the same for them.

The parents jokingly asked me one time if I wanted to help with a Saturday morning concession stand, because “they’re partly yours, too.” I laughed and said I was adding Saturday morning concession stand work to my list of “Things I Don’t Do.”

My “Things I Don’t Do” list is short, though. When the kids were babies, I told the parents I’d keep them anytime they needed me to, with one caveat. They couldn’t be gone long, because I wasn’t changing diapers. As the kids got older, I added “No sleepovers” to the list.

And as the kids grow older, life questions are always directed back to Mom and Dad. For example, when we were walking one day, the one child pointed to a bull and innocently asked, “What’s hanging from him there?” I replied that was a good question for Mom and Dad - they know much more about animals than I! (And I quickly texted Mom a warning of incoming question.)

Anyway, my point is: I’m really close with this family.

As the kids were sitting on the porch and chatting with me, I thought it’d be cool to make a family tree for them. I’m always referring to someone in my family that had some connection to history, but I thought that history would come alive if I could make those kinds of connections to their own family. The kids thought that was mildly interesting, but after they left, I started digging into it a bit more.

I texted their Mom about what I was doing. I found some cool documents I sent to her to share with her husband. It was fun.

They are from the county north of where we currently live, so when I found a connection to the very town where we all live now, I was excited. I texted her the name of a kind man who passed a few years ago, asking if they’d ever met him, explained which house he lived in, and all that type of thing.

I started on another of his family lines, and I started finding a connection to the township that is my “specialty.” I texted the Mom, “Oh, this is going to be really funny if we end up being related!”

On I searched.

And then…

I saw the surname.

No.

It can’t be.

No, no, no. I know that surname. It can’t be.

“I think I found a connection. We can’t tell the kids this story,” I texted.

More research.

Looked up a tree I’d started years ago trying to learn more about the family the surname belongs to.

Looked at my sources. Looked at the details.

No.

Turns out, yes. It is.

We are connected. But not related.

The brother of my Great Great Grandfather killed the brother of his Great Great Great Grandfather. A pit of panic, shame, sorrow, remorse hit me.

I texted the Mom. I sent her the newspaper article from The Spirit of Democracy published on October 14, 1879.

I explained who these men were to each of us.

Her reply?

“Sooo what you’re telling me is we won’t be having any card games?”

I burst out laughing with an internal sigh of relief.

The next evening I still rechecked my sources and details. Same conclusion.

It was a sickening feeling.

It was almost 150 years ago! I never met anyone in that line until almost 100 years after their deaths, and my neighbor didn’t even know that surname was in his tree! But, wow. Researching the family tree certainly made history come alive this time, just not the way I wanted.

We are not telling the kids this story!

Thanks for joining me at The Creighton Cabin this week. We’ve shared the good. This was certainly a share about the bad.