Who Are You?
by Dan Robling
(an article written after my return from a genealogical research trip to Wales)
Mankind has been in search of Adam for centuries. Massive volumes have been written about this quest. "Roots" had one of the largest viewing audiences in television history. People of every racial and ethnic background could identify with what Alex Haley was feeling in his search. Young people usually wander through adolescence trying to find out who they are. Adults who have been adopted as children and have never known the identity of their natural parents sometimes spend years and thousands of dollars in search of their natural beginnings in hopes of better understanding who they are. The pursuit of genealogical information has become a national past time and a burgeoning business. You can actually hire services to trace your family tree for you. Almost every American family has some family member who is researching to find who was in the family tree and what part of the world they can identify as their land of heritage. Somehow, we seem to feel that if we can return to our roots we may better understand why we are who we are. We want to take pride in those who contributed to our being. Many of us seem to be driven to validate our existence through gaining knowledge of our history. We sometimes travel across the continent to attend family reunions in hopes of gaining and nurturing some sense of belonging. One can surf the internet and find help and solace among the thousands of folks across the world who share their passion for knowing from whence they came. Many of us dream of having an opportunity to visit the "old country" to feel some sense of our past. We hope to find and experience some mystical bond with previous generations of relatives who have lived and walked there. Members of fragmented families may become consumed with the quest for knowledge about their preceding generations.
I understand these feelings. I have felt them for most, if not all, of my fifty four years. For those who may find it interesting, I will share a personal experience about my quest for knowledge of my roots and the impact this experience has had on my life. I hope the rest of you will excuse this personal indulgence. Please be assured that we will return to our normal business discussions next week . My paternal grandfather died when he was thirty four years old. My dad was only five years old at that time and did not visit much with his father's relatives. We moved away from the area, where our relatives lived, when I was seven years of age. Although we returned for annual Christmas visits, I never really got to know my extended family as well as I wished to. I have always felt somewhat cheated by having not known them well. Although I love the ones I have met and am certain that they return my affection and admiration, I have always felt that sharing more of their daily lives would have been a wonderful, meaningful and supportive experience for me and, hopefully, for them. Thoughts about shared physical and mental traits, from past generations, have often wandered through my mind. Did "they" make me who I am? Did "they" have some influence on what I have done with my life? Who were "they"? I have always felt a longing to return to the place of my roots in hopes that I might better understand myself and have a greater sense of who I am and, perhaps, gain some greater sense of belonging.
I have always known that my mother's paternal grandfather came to this country from County Cork, Ireland, and her paternal grandmother was of black African descent, but I did not know until this year which country previous generations, carrying forth my surname, had called their homeland. I recently discovered a distant relative who is an accomplished genealogical researcher of my paternal family history. She has spent a major portion of her life doing this research. I told her that I was planning a trip to Europe and that I would be happy to schedule some time to do family research there if she needed for me to. She was excited to have me do some research for her and I was thrilled with the opportunity to do so.
She asked me to go to the Pembrokeshire area of South Wales in search of the Rhydwilim Baptist Church register from the late 1600'S and early 1700's. It seems that few accurate records were kept during that period and the most accurate information can be found in church records, where available. I had a business appointment scheduled in Birmingham, England. Much to my pleasure, I found that Birmingham is only four hours drive from the National Library of Wales and this library has been collecting genealogical documentation for the last twenty years and would be the most likely repository of old church registers . Since they drive on the wrong side of the road in that part of the world and their intersections are actually roundabouts in which the best American navigators could get confused, I set about to find a way to get there. Fortunately, I was able to hire a car and driver who was willing to drive across Wales to the seaside town of Abrystwith on Cardigan Bay, wait for me while I researched the genealogical archives of the National Library of Wales and then return me to Birmingham. My heart was racing with anticipation as we crossed the lovely Welsh Mountains to Aberystwyth. The beauty of the country was breathtaking as I gazed at the natural and virtually unspoiled landscape. I felt a great sense of history as I saw the large mountainside homes that have been passed on from generation to generation throughout the centuries. As the road took us across the green grassy covered rounded hills, we suddenly found ourselves looking down on the most uniquely beautiful small bayside town I have ever seen. There is truly a sense of centuries past in Wales and especially in this ancient town. As I walked up the steps to the library my heart was filled with emotion, my mind was filled with thoughts of my dad, his dad and generations before them. My eyes filled with tears that were soon running down my face and mingling with the gently falling rain. Questions were whirling about me. Would I find anything? Would I find nothing? What would I feel, if I found something? Was I on a wild goose chase?
As I entered the library, I was greeted by a lovely and friendly young girl who asked if she might help find what I was looking for. I told my story to her. She asked me to wait as she looked for the church register of the Rhydwilym Baptist church of Pembrokeshire. I waited with the expectation that she would momentarily return with disappointing news. In a few minutes she rushed back into the room beaming with a smile and in an excitedly high pitched voice said. "We have it! I found it! Here it is!". She proceeded to hand the book to me. I was allowed to take the book into a study room and look through it. As I gingerly turned through the original pages which had been written during the years from 1600 through 1780, I felt greatly humbled. I was beginning to believe, though, that there was nothing of my ancestors to be found in the register as I labored through the old and often hard to read script. Suddenly from a page containing entries from the 21st day of February during the year of our Lord 1719 the baptism of Margaret Roblin seemed to jump from the page. This was a significantly critical moment in my life. Who I am and what my roots mean to me instantly became clear in earthly terms. I am a grain of sand on a beach, a wisp of air in a storm, a blade of grass on a prairie. Margaret and all of the others for whom I have been searching do not make me who I am. They are gone from this earth and are forgotten, as we too soon will be. I am what God has made. My only significance is because of His grace. In the short and due course of earthly time, it will become as though I had never been. I no longer look back except for purposes of curiosity and amusement. I no longer feel a need to look back. I know that my mission is to make this day all it can become for the good of those around me as I swiftly pass through it, in the hope that God will be pleased with me and let me share in a more meaningful life to come.
In a greater sense, from the perspective of ourselves as individuals, nations, companies, churches, or any other identity given to us, history is only meaningful in the lessons learned from it. Yesterday does not make us who we are today. Yesterday cannot be fixed. Today is our opportunity to become what we need to be and the credit or blame belongs to you and me.
. DAN ROBLING©1995