History Lesson

I am not interested in my ancestors. I don't care who married whom or who gave birth to whom. I'm not concerned with their travels and migrations. What they did for a living, their quirks, their lives.

This puzzles me because I'm a writer, and all writers want to know their family stories, right?

Not me. I never sat at the feet of my elders, asking them to reveal the secrets of the past. Sure, if I picked up a few family facts, here and there, well, fine, but I didn't set out to produce a family tree or history.

My husband explains this total lack of interest in my family past as a fear that if I dig too deeply into my history, I'll find it riddled with crazies.

This may be.

I think the real reason is that I like to make up the stories. I'm more interested in the fiction of our lives.

And I'm not interested in life NOW. I'm not a fan of history. I believe in living in the moment.

It just didn't interest me.

So, I may have 16 absolutely crazy uncles or 7 schizophrenic cousins, but I'll never know.

I'm living for today.

Oh, I know they're back there. My crazy relatives. This is a family thing, you see. This "bipolar" life.

So if I know they're there, I already have an affinity for them. Actually, I know them very well.

I don't need to delve into the past. It's just more of the same. Isn't it?