I remember going to the Woodland Cemetary with my parents on Memorial Day sometimes. We would clear the headstones and place flowers by the graves of my uncle Donald, and Grandparents Conradin and Minnie, and Great Grandparents George and Caroline.
My Dad, Eddie, would always tell stories, little remembrances of everyday life and events that he shared.
As he spoke the breeze was just right, the sun felt nice and warm, the air smelled like new-mown grass and it was peaceful.
I wanted to record what he told me so that it could be a reference for someone else.
THE STORYTELLERS

We are the chosen. In each family there is one who seems called to find the ancestors – to put flesh on their bones and make them live again, to tell the family story, and to feel that somehow they know and approve.

To me, doing genealogy is not a cold gathering of facts but, instead, breathing life into all who have gone before.

We are the storytellers of the tribe. All tribes have one.

We have been called by our genes. Those who have gone before cry out to us: Tell our story. So we do. In finding them, we somehow find ourselves. How many graves have I stood before now and cried? I have lost count. How many times have I told the ancestors you have a wonderful family you would be proud of us? How many times have I walked up to a grave and felt somehow there was love there for me?

I cannot say.

It goes beyond just documenting facts. It goes to who am I and why do I do the things I do. It goes from seeing a cemetery about to be lost forever to weeds and indifference and saying I can’t let this happen. The bones here are bones of my bone and flesh of my flesh. It goes to doing something about it. It goes to pride in what our ancestors were able to accomplish. How they contributed to what we are today. It goes to respecting their hardships and losses, they're never giving in or giving up, their resoluteness to go on and build a life for their family. It goes to deep pride that they fought to make and keep us a Nation.

It goes to a deep and immense understanding that they were doing it for us. That we might be born who we are. That we might remember them. So we do. With love and caring and scribing each fact of their existence, because we are them and they are us. So, as a scribe is called, I tell the story of my family. It is up to that one called in the next generation to answer the call and take their place in the long line of family storytellers.

That is why I do genealogy, and that is what calls those young and old to step up and put flesh on the bones.

Author Della Maxine Cummings Wright 1922-2001 married Elisha Jack Wright
Daughter Sally Darnell Wright McGinnis 1945-1999 married William Thomas McGinnis
Rewritten by her granddaughter Della Joann McGinnis Johnson 1962-living
Edited and Reworded by Tom Dunn, 1943.

I remember going to the Woodland Cemetary with my parents on Memorial Day sometimes. We would clear the headstones and place flowers by the graves of my uncle Donald, and Grandparents Conradin and Minnie, and Great Grandparents George and Caroline.
My Dad, Eddie, would always tell stories, little remembrances of everyday life and events that he shared.
As he spoke the breeze was just right, the sun felt nice and warm, the air smelled like new-mown grass and it was peaceful.
I wanted to record what he told me so that it could be a reference for someone else.
THE STORYTELLERS

We are the chosen. In each family there is one who seems called to find the ancestors – to put flesh on their bones and make them live again, to tell the family story, and to feel that somehow they know and approve.

To me, doing genealogy is not a cold gathering of facts but, instead, breathing life into all who have gone before.

We are the storytellers of the tribe. All tribes have one.

We have been called by our genes. Those who have gone before cry out to us: Tell our story. So we do. In finding them, we somehow find ourselves. How many graves have I stood before now and cried? I have lost count. How many times have I told the ancestors you have a wonderful family you would be proud of us? How many times have I walked up to a grave and felt somehow there was love there for me?

I cannot say.

It goes beyond just documenting facts. It goes to who am I and why do I do the things I do. It goes from seeing a cemetery about to be lost forever to weeds and indifference and saying I can’t let this happen. The bones here are bones of my bone and flesh of my flesh. It goes to doing something about it. It goes to pride in what our ancestors were able to accomplish. How they contributed to what we are today. It goes to respecting their hardships and losses, they're never giving in or giving up, their resoluteness to go on and build a life for their family. It goes to deep pride that they fought to make and keep us a Nation.

It goes to a deep and immense understanding that they were doing it for us. That we might be born who we are. That we might remember them. So we do. With love and caring and scribing each fact of their existence, because we are them and they are us. So, as a scribe is called, I tell the story of my family. It is up to that one called in the next generation to answer the call and take their place in the long line of family storytellers.

That is why I do genealogy, and that is what calls those young and old to step up and put flesh on the bones.

Author Della Maxine Cummings Wright 1922-2001 married Elisha Jack Wright
Daughter Sally Darnell Wright McGinnis 1945-1999 married William Thomas McGinnis
Rewritten by her granddaughter Della Joann McGinnis Johnson 1962-living
Edited and Reworded by Tom Dunn, 1943.