A Heritage Denied

When I was about twelve my father stepped out of my life.  With the gift of hindsight and wisdom, and many discussions with relatives I have come to the conclusion that he must have suffered from some mental illness.  His own mother is quoted as saying that he "lacked morals".  Honestly the stories that arise from time to time make me wonder as to just what the hell my genetic code contains. 

Even though my father walked away from me, and denied me a father figure in my life that probably wasn't his worse sin against me ( some could argue it was better he was gone).  I hold a grudge that I missed growing up with cousins, knowing my aunts and uncles - and loosing a rich heritage that total strangers know more about than I.

Occasionally when boredom overtakes me and I can't get the the gumption do anything really productive I start googling my great-grandfather.  My great-grandfather was actually quite well known in folk music circles and there are over 35,000 hits on google for his name.  I can't claim I would I have known my great grandfather, he passed way about 10 years before I was born, but it irks me that total strangers know more about his professional life than I do and what I know is pieced together from bits and pieces gleaned from the Internet and snatches of conversations remembered as a child.  Probably the thing that angers me most is that as a child my father had my great-grandfather's instrument (or at least one of them) and he had always told me that it would be mine someday.  Rumor has it my father was hard up for cash and sold it away to one of his cousin's ex-husband who then sold it back to the cousin.  I don't know the route that instrument took, I hope it's in a family member's possession, but I believe it should be in mine.  Overall I know that's only a small thing but find that really irritating when I dwell on it.

In a way my plight parallels what Igor may feel as he ages.  A connection to a place, a draw to a culture but with no real connection of having lived it, spoke it's language, or it's traditions beyond a a textbook or passing conversation.  I can see where my plight might be more in tune with an older adoptee as opposed to a child who comes home at a very young age.  How does one bridge that urge to be both the person you are and the person you would have become if circumstances had been different.  Do you even want the insight?  I don't know.  I know in my case I can hunt down relatives, I can hunt down people versed in my great-grandfather's work, and know more but will that bring me closer to a long heritage that I didn't grow up with? 

I'm rambling, it's late.  Like I've said before the blog topics come to me as soon my head hits the pillow and with Hubby out of town this week I have decided to get out the laptop and get them down before they fly away like a bunch of elusive butterflies.