“I have a story you might enjoy,” my dad said to me one day.
I was around seven, and sitting on the floor—knees splayed out in ways my adult brain can’t even describe, much less mimic—in the living room of a summer vacation rental. I was very much in the tell-me-a-story era of life.
“There was a young boy,” he began, settling in on the couch next to me, “He lived long ago, in the late 1800s, and his name was Fredrick.”
Then he patiently, expertly unfurled an epic tale.
It had all the elements. There was great loss when Fredrick’s father died in a tragic buggy accident and struggle as he tried to help provide for the family. There was adventure when he set off with his brother as a shepherd in the Wyoming wilderness. And challenges to survive terrible blizzards in the canvas-topped wagon.
As it happens, my father is a professional storyteller, so you can believe he held my attention.
I sat, entranced, as he built up to a great triumph of an ending. Fredrick and his brother finally scraped together enough money to build their very own sheep ranch.
Cool, I thought, glad that Fredrick had battled back from adversity to build a good life for himself. Fun story.
Then my dad added a little PostScript, about how Fredrick got married and had a child. A boy.
“That boy was your grandfather,” he said.
Mic drop.
The stunned feeling he left me with still gives me shivers today.
It wasn’t just a true story. It was my Bampa’s true story. No—wait—it was my true story.
I wouldn’t have a word for being rocked down to my soul until college: Existential. And I still wouldn’t know why dad’s story held so much power until I ran marketing for Ancestry decades later: Belonging.
Knowing our past can weave our lives into a greater-than-us story that delivers meaning so deep, there’s no language for it. You’ve felt it or you haven’t. Though shows like Finding Your Roots provide a hint.
Certain things you can only see in the rearview, but that moment with my dad changed my life.
I became a storyteller myself. I took a big risk, quitting a good job to take a flier on a then-unknown company called Ancestry.com. I researched more of my family story and was so moved by what I discovered; I wrote an entire novel about it.
Just to be clear, this isn’t a genealogy ad. I don’t work for Ancestry anymore, and don’t have stock or affiliate relationships.
What I do have is a deep love for the existential sense of belonging that family history stories can deliver when all the elements come together.
Fair winds,
Cheyenne
0 comments