Uncle Gene's Gift

        Just months before I decided on my sister's gift, I'd become involved with two projects. The first was organizing all my photographs and the second was researching our family tree. When embarking on this genealogical endeavor I explored all branches of the family and I began sending out questionnaires and making phone inquires.
        Hence came the gift idea for my sister, Lynn. I simply utilized the work and research already completed. With the help of my mother and an aunt, I located photographs of my parents, both sets of grandparents, four sets of great- grandparents, plus group shots of each family showing the children of each generation. Information I'd gathered, such as birth, death and marriage dates had been entered into a genealogy computer program. Using acid free paper and a laser printer, I printed out pedigree charts to accompany the photographs.

        In the midst of assembling the album a package arrived from my cousin Karen. She had been one of the relatives I had called months earlier, on the advice of my mother. Karen's father, my mother's brother, had passed away a little over a year before. According to my mother, Uncle Gene had been working for sometime on a family history. Perhaps, mother suggested, Karen might be able to send me some copies of Gene's work.
        I had called Karen and she told me her father had been working on the family history, but she wasn't familiar with it. Karen's mother, Alice, had recently moved in with Karen and they were in the process of sorting through Gene and Alice's home. Karen promised that if they uncovered her father's work they'd send me a copy.

        And so, just weeks before Christmas, Karen's package arrived. It contained a neatly typed 32 page paper which Uncle Gene had written. The story began with Uncle Gene's great Grandfather, Stephen Glandon who'd been a twin born in Tennessee, and whose ancestors had come from Scotland. It told of Stephen's son William, my mother's grandfather, who'd been a broom corn farmer, and how the family had traveled across the country. Gene wrote about his mother's parents, Grandpa Bakken, who'd come to the United States from Norway and his wife, whose mother been born on the ship coming over from Switzerland.
        The paper was filled with antidotes which gave greater meaning to the faces in the photographs and the dry dates of births, marriages and deaths that I'd been gathering. But, my favorite story in Uncle Gene's paper was about his parents, my Grandma Hilda and Grandpa George.
        Growing up I adored my Grandma Hilda. Her first husband, my Grandpa George, had died when my mother was a young girl. Grandma Hilda had remarried when my mother was a grown women, and the only maternal grandfather I had ever known was my Grandpa Pete, a sweet gentleman, who was wonderful to me.
        To me, Grandma Hilda had always been a soft, plump woman, with kind blue eyes, smooth flawless fair skin, soft gray hair, who was legally blind, yet still managed to dabble in arts and craft and was devoted to her religion. She was the most gentle and loving woman I had ever known.
        Grandma Hilda had passed away at least 16 years prior to the reading of Uncle Gene's family history paper. Gene used a tape recorder to interview Grandma and her sister, over two decades ago. With this information he painted a wonderful story of my grandparent's life.

        He told of Grandpa's George's relentless pursuit of Hilda's heart. Of their wagon trip from Seattle to Montana, where their homestead awaited their labors. Page after page, antidotes revealed the fascinating lives of my pioneer grandparents. I came to know Hilda as a complete woman; strong, fearless, adventuresome and spirited. I grew to love my grandfather whom I had never known, appreciated his talents and his obvious love for his family. I was suddenly proud of my heritage, in a way I had never been before.
        The next time I looked at the album I was preparing for my sister, the photographs, names and dates suddenly held deeper meaning. Before, the album had been one dimensional, yet now it was three-dimensional. When I looked at the photograph of my great grandpa Bakken, I remembered how he loved cream, hated cats and played the violin. I knew his wife was a fragile woman, who baked wonderful treats and was always supportive of my grandmother. When I would look at the photographs of my Great Grandpa and Grandma Glandon, I would know that they were farmers, that he was a stubborn man, and together with their children they would take a year to travel across the continent.
        Uncle Gene had been gone a little over a year, but he had given me a wondrous Christmas gift. It was a gift I could share with other members of my family, including my children.
        He also taught me a lesson; I learned how important it was to sit down with my mother and mother-in-law, and record for posterity the stories of their lives and experiences. I regret not listening more to my grandparents when they were still alive. Fortunately Uncle Gene was wiser than I.
        Thank you, Uncle Gene, and Merry Christmas.