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Elusive Ancestor, The
by Merrell Kenworthy
I went searching for an ancestor. I cannot find him still.
He moved around from place to place and did not live a will.
He married where a courthouse burned.
He mended all his fences.
He avoided any man who came to take the U.S. Census.
He always kept his luggage packed, this man who had no fame.
And every 20 years or so, this rascal changed his name.
His parents came from Europe. They should be upon some list
of passengers to U.S.A., but somehow they got missed.
And no one else in this world is searching for this man.
So, I play geneasolitaire to find him if I can.
I’m told he’s buried in a plot, with tombtone he was blessed;
but the weather took engraving, and some vandals took the rest.
He died before the county clerks decided to keep records.
No Family Bible has emerged, in spite of all my efforts.
To top it off this ancestor, who caused me many groans,
Just to give me one more pain, betrothed a girl named JONES.
Only the Men Had Babies
by Dr. Dorothy Branson
My Ancestor, William had Children
All named, with birth dates and places,
But his WIFE was not even mentioned;
Of her, there are not even traces.
Surely she must have existed,
Was born, was a child, and had dreams,
Grew up and learned how to keep house,
Was a PERSON — but nameless, it seems.
She had parents, and someplace, a home,
Her brothers are listed, no doubt,
But she was only a girl,
So not really worth telling about.
She was half of my Ancestor’s heritage;
Without her, he wouldn’t have life.
His genes are half of hers, but I find
She was only his father’s wife.
Once a Girl, was first a “dau.”, then was a “Wife,”
She belonged to her Father till married,
And then she belonged to her husband,
And beside him “unnamed,” she was buried.
How awful to think MY Descendants
Might search for a name for me.
But be unable to find identity,
And wonder just who I might be.
Thanks For The Choice, Ken
As a recovered alcoholic for nearly twelve years, I could write a book
about how much I owe to Alcoholics Anonymous and Ken B., my first
sponsor. His love and unwavering dedication to other alcoholics come
back to me on an almost daily basis.
In November 2004 my stepdaughter lay dying of cancer in the hospital.
Being retired, I was the “late shift,” staying through the night with
her while working family members got badly needed sleep.
I took a short break outside to walk and stretch. Coming back, I
re-entered the hospital through the emergency room, and noticed a young
man at a payphone, hanging up the receiver.
He asked where the coffee machine was. Since it was on my way, I offered
to show him. As we walked, he told me he’d gotten a call from his
brother, telling him their mother had been in an auto accident and was
in intensive care.
But he had come to the wrong hospital and needed to get to a city about
50 miles away. Unfortunately, he was out of money and gas. He told me
he’d been at his building maintenance job when he’d gotten the call and
had left immediately.
My first thought was the same as most people’s might be: he’s just a
panhandler. But I looked closer — his clothes were paint-splattered and
drywall dust still clung to his shoulders.
I remembered a conversation with my sponsor Ken B. about unselfish acts.
He said Mother Teresa had done so much good because she wanted to live
in a world where those acts of kindness and love could occur. It was up
to her to do her part to create that world.
Reaching into my wallet, I pulled out my last five-dollar bill and gave
it to him. That would give him enough gas to visit his mother and drive
home afterward. When he offered to repay it I told him, “You may or may
not be what you say. That’s none of my business. If you want, keep a
five tucked in your billfold to give to someone else in need.”
When I told someone else about the incident, I was asked, “Why?” The
unspoken message was that I’d been taken advantage of.
Recalling the conversation with Ken B., I pointed out that it was a
win-win thing for me. If the story were true I’d been able to help this
man see his mother, possibly for the last time. If not, then a woman was
not in a hospital bed faced with a long and painful recovery. What a
relief to know that!
I choose to live in a world in which a person can reach out in a time of
need and a stranger will be there to do what they need the most. In
recovery, I have been given back that choice, thanks to Ken B.
by Dale W.
Washington, USA