Genealogy is fun, but don’t take it too seriously

I was a graduate student at the University of Wisconsin—Madison when Roots took the country by storm. It inspired me to step into the State Historical Society of Wisconsin genealogy library, where I found my lowly great-great-grandfather Silas Buck Goss in a family history. He was the most distant ancestor I knew of, and having his name allowed me to trace the Gosses back to Puritan New England in one afternoon. 

That hooked me on genealogy. I dove into tracing not only the Anglo-American branch but also the seven-eights of my ancestry that came from continental Europe. My goal was to identify the immigrants in each ethnic group and their birthplaces and then to do cultural history about the regions.

In the nearly half-century since, I’ve returned to genealogy research several times, making additions and corrections. Over time my initial fervor abated and I developed more nuanced views about the significance of identifying one’s ancestors. Here are some thoughts in that vein, should you be inclined to search for your roots.

Why are there audiences for hopeless stories?

I watched the first two seasons of the Italian television series Inspector Ricciardi on PBS Passport and was engaged by the interesting characters, the Naples setting, and the insights into 1930s fascist Italy. 

Luigi Riccardi has a supernatural ability: he sees the ghosts and hears the last words of murder victims. It aids his investigations but torments his soul. Terrified of passing on what he considers a curse, Ricciardi doesn’t want to marry and have children. But he’s enamored of a young woman whose kitchen window faces his bedroom window, and the feelings are mutual. For the first season and a half, they stare longingly at one another. They finally declare their love, and Season 2 ends happily. 

Passport hasn’t picked up the third season yet, but I Googled and found out that Ricciardi and Enrica marry and she dies giving birth to their child. I won’t watch season 3.

Hearing from long-lost college roommate prompts a life review

The other day an email arrived from an old college roommate. It was startling to hear from someone after more than half a century. It was humbling to Google her and learn that she is a retired multidegreed professor. 

Sharon and I shared an apartment on the University of Illinois campus when it was still at Champaign-Urbana rather than Urbana-Champaign. We lost contact after graduation.

She wanted to catch up by phone or email. What did I have to say for myself? I decided to be candid in my email: