Family History

A Lifetime of Music

~ marestales

How important is music in your life? Does it help you get through your day? Does it inspire you? Does it make you smile? Or, does it help you cry when you really need to let it go? Does it bring back special memories? Does it take you places you have never been? Music can do all of that, and more.

I am sort of a music addict. I have to hear music wherever I go, whatever I do. And, since I love to sing along, lyrics are important to me. When there is no music playing, then I can always turn to the music in my head. I have quite a playlist. Everything I have heard since I was born–big bands, Sing-Along-With-Mitch (Miller), pop, country/western, folk, American classics, Broadway, rock (not too electric, though), Disney, Christmas/holiday, easy listening,  rock opera (not so much classic opera), new age, hymns, jazz, gospel, and more. Every kind of music imaginable.

I used to break into song when I taught middle school, much to the chagrin of my students, I am sure. “There is a song for everything,” I would tell them. It got to be sort of a game–they would challenge me with a word or an idea, and I would search my memory bank for just the right tune and lyrics. Mr. Holland’s Opus came out about that time. I used the theme from that movie, “a lifetime of music,” to teach history, music appreciation, writing, and more. I used music in my classroom to teach relaxation and superlearning back in the ’80s. One year, my high school calculus class, mostly guys who were big into sports, picked the music from Disney’s Mulan, especially “I’ll Make a Man Out of You,” as our theme music for that year. All their own idea! It was great!!

Music is in my soul. It is an inseparable part of my being. It came from my parents, who probably got it from their parents, and on and on back through many generations and cultures. I have passed this love of music on to our daughter, who I see has passed it on to her daughters.

We can show our tale, the story of our life, in so many ways. What is the music of your lifetime?

Peter J., Part 2

~ marestales

It was 1993, maybe ’94, when I found the first records of my Brinkman ancestors. My daughter attended BYU tennis camp that summer, so I spent four days at the Family History Library in Salt Lake City. It was my first trip there, and I wasn’t disappointed.

I spent hours, days even, poring over microfilm, combing through census and vital records, searching bookshelves. The dead ends were definitely frustrating, but every new bit of information I found quickly refueled my enthusiasm to keep on searching. The genealogy bug had bit me big time.

I returned from that trip loaded with documents and new information, eager to share it all with my father. Among the items were his grandfather Kobus Brinkman’s naturalization document, pages from a volume of Germans to America showing Kobus Brinkman as a passenger from Bremen with his siblings and his father arriving in New York in 1873, and an entry for Kobus Brinkman in a Sibley, Iowa death register. I was so excited to have found such treasures, but wasn’t sure whether Dad would share my enthusiasm. As it turned out, he was moderately interested, more than I expected. As I recall, these records caused him to open up a little bit. If only I had written down what he told me that day, but alas…

Peter J.

~ marestales

Family secrets, mysteries, untold stories. These can be like catnip to a curious mind. They drive us crazy until we can puzzle them out to our satisfaction. They can also be great motivators for digging into family history.

My father was given the name Peter Jakobus at birth–Peter, after his father, and Jakobus, after his grandfather. However, he always went by Pete, or Peter, or Peter J. I learned my father’s middle name when I was a child. I believe my mother told me. The first time he heard “Peter Jakobus” come off my lips, however, I was told, in no uncertain terms, calling him by his middle name was strictly forbidden. He told me it was his dad’s father’s name and never wanted to hear it mentioned in his house. What Dad said was law, but I always wondered why he held such a grudge against his grandfather.

In fact, he held a grudge against his father’s whole family. He never spoke of them. We grew up, my sisters and I, never knowing the Brinkmans of Sibley, Iowa. He often said that he felt abandoned by them, but I never understood why. The question lingers with me even today.

I am discovering more and more of the truth behind this tale, however, through my own research efforts. Will I ever know the whole story? Probably not, since they are all gone. One thing is for sure, though. Just like the many thought-provoking puzzles Dad would challenge me with as a little girl, I am determined to puzzle this one out, too.

 

First Family Tree

~ marestales

Baby books are great sources of information about how one’s life began. Sure, there are dates and statistics galore, but there are also subtle tidbits. When we read the notes on the baby cards a young mother may have saved, we learn about relationships–friends and family–important people in our parents’ lives when we were born. A baby book often contains photos of us in our early days and provides us with glimpses into a time of our lives mostly hidden from our memory. Beyond all that, we may find our first family tree, complete with basic genealogical information of our near ancestors, perhaps to our great-grandparents, or beyond.

I was about eight when I first came across the family tree in my baby book. It was incomplete and raised questions in my young mind. For instance, my mother filled in names, dates, and places for my father’s side of the tree back to my great-grandparents, but she didn’t give any information for my great-grandparents on her side of the tree. Didn’t she know her own grandparents? Who were they? Then, there was the question of my paternal grandfather’s surname. It was different than my father’s. What did that mean? Didn’t children usually have the same last name as their father? I did. According to the family tree, my mother did. What happened in my father’s case?

This was my first experience with family history. The more I searched for answers, the more questions I would have for my parents. Some things, I learned, were not to be asked. Some questions may never be answered. But, that baby book lit a fire in my heart for knowing my ancestors. It showed the beginning of my tale and gave me a peek into how and where that tale began.

I encourage you to show your tale to your descendants. Give them the gift of heritage. Share it through baby books, photo albums, family trees, cookbooks, oral histories, journals, music, and more.