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This is PRICELESS - reported by an American teacher!
After Christmas, a teacher asked her young pupils how they spent their holiday away from school. One child wrote the following:
"We always used to spend the holidays with Grandma and Grandpa. They used to live in a big brick house but Grandpa got retarded and they moved to
Arizona. Now they live in a tin box and have rocks painted green to look like grass. They ride around on their bicycles and wear name tags because they don't know who they are anymore.
They go to a building called a wrecked center, but they must have got it fixed because it is all okay now, and do exercises there, but they don't do them very well. There is a swimming pool too, but in it, they all jump up and down with hats on.
At their gate, there is a doll house with a little old man sitting in it. He watches all day so nobody can escape. Sometimes they sneak out. They go cruising in their golf carts.
Nobody there cooks, they just eat out. And, they eat the same thing every night --- early birds. Some of the people can't get out past the man in the doll house. The ones who do get out, bring food back to the wrecked center and call it pot luck.
My Grandma says that Grandpa worked all his life to earn his retardment and says I should work hard so I can be retarded someday too. When I earn my retardment, I want to be the man in the doll house. Then I will let people out so they can visit their grandchildren."
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'Twas the night before Christmas when all through the house
Not a creature was stirring, not even my spouse.
The dining room table with clutter was spread with pedigree charts and with letters which said
"Too bad about the data for which you wrote Sank in a storm on an ill-fated boat."
Stacks of old copies of wills and the such were proof that my work had become much too much.
Our children were nestled all snug in their beds, While visions of sugarplums danced in their heads.
And I at my table was ready to drop
From work on my album with photos to crop.
Christmas was here, and of such was my lot, that presents and goodies and toys I'd forgot.
Had I not been so busy with grandparents' wills, I'd not have forgotten to shop for such thrills.
While others had bought gifts that would bring Christmas cheer, I'd spent my time researching those birthdates and years.
While I was thus musing about my sad plight, a strange noise on the lawn gave me such a great fright.
Away to the window I flew in a flash,
Tore open the drapes and I yanked up the sash. When what to my wondering eyes should appear, but an overstuffed sleight and eight small reindeer.
Up to the housetop the reindeer they flew, with a sleigh full of toys, and 'ole Santa Claus, too.
And then in a twinkle, I heard on the roof, the prancing and pawing of thirty-two hoofs.
The TV antenna was no match for their horns, and look at our roof with hoof-prints adorned.
As I drew in my head, and bumped it on the sash, down the cold chimney fell Santa--KER-RASH!
"Dear" Santa had come from the roof in a wreck, and tracked soot on the carpet (I could wring his short neck!).
Spotting my face, good old Santa could see I had no Christmas spirit you'd have to agree.
He spoke not a word, but went straight to his work and filled all the stockings (I felt like a jerk).
Here was Santa, who'd brought us such gladness and joy, when I'd been too busy for even one toy.
He spied my research on the table all spread "A genealogist!" He cried! (My face was all red!)
"Tonight I've met many like you," Santa grinned, as he pulled from his sack a large book he had penned.
I gazed with amazement - the cover it read "Genealogy Lines for Which You have Plead."
"I know what it's like as a genealogy bug," he said, as he gave me a great Santa hug.
While the elves make the sleighful of toys I now carry, I do some research in the North Pole Library."
"A special treat I am thus able to bring, to genealogy folks who can't find a thing.
Now off you go to your bed for a rest,
I'll clean up the house from this genealogy mess."
As I climbed up the stairs full of gladness and glee, I looked back at Santa who'd brought much to me.
While settling in bed, I heard Santa's clear whistle, to his team, which then rose like the down of a thistle.
And I heard him exclaim as he flew out of sight, "Family History is Fun! Merry Christmas! Goodnight!"
(Author unknown)
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A Genealogist's Twelve Days of Christmas
My true love gave to me
Twelve census searches
Eleven family bibles
Ten e-mail contacts
Nine headstone rubbings
Eight wills and admons
Seven miners mining
Six second cousins
Five coats of arms
Four GEDCOM files
Three old wills
Two CD-ROMs
And a branch in my family tree
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I started out calmly, tracing my tree,
To find if I could find the makings of me.
And all that I had was Great-grandfather's name, not knowing his wife or from where he came.
I chased him across a long line of states,
And came up with pages and pages of dates.
When all put together, it made me forlorn,
Proved poor Great-grandpa had never been born.
One day I was sure the truth I had found,
Determined to turn this whole thing upside down.
I looked up the record of one Uncle John,
But then I found the old man to be younger than his son.
Then when my hopes were fast growing dim,
I came across records that must have been him.
The facts I collected made me quite sad,
Dear old Great grandfather was never a Dad.
I think someone is pulling my leg,
I am not at all sure I wasn't hatched from an egg.
After hundreds of dollars I've spent on my tree,
I can't help but wonder if I'm really me.
Author Unknown
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There's been a change in Grandma,
we've noticed her of late.
She's always reading history
or jotting down some date.
She's tracking back the family,
we'll all have pedigrees.
Oh, Grandma's got a hobby,
she's climbing the FAMILY TREE.
Poor Grandpa does the cooking, and now,
or so he states, that worst of all,
he has to wash the cups and dinner plates.
Grandma can't be bothered,
she's busy as a bee,
Compiling genealogy for the FAMILY TREE.
She has no time to babysit,
the curtains are a fright,
No buttons left on Grandpa's shirt,
the flower bed's a sight.
She's given up her club work
and the soaps on TV,
The only thing she does nowadays is climb the FAMILY TREE.
She goes down to the courthouse
and studies ancient lore,
We know more about our forebearers
than we ever knew before.
The books are old and dusty,
they make poor Grandma sneeze,
A minor irritation when you're climbing the FAMILY TREE.
The mail is all for Grandma,
it comes from near and far,
Last week she got the proof she needs
to join the D. A. R.
A monumental project we all do agree,
All from climbing up the FAMILY TREE.
Now some folks came from Scotland,
some from Galway Bay,
some were French as pastry,
some German all the way.
Some went West to stake there claims,
some stayed there by the sea.
Grandma hopes to find them all, as she climbs the FAMILY TREE.
She wanders through the graveyard
in search of a date and name,
The rich, the poor, the in-between,
all sleeping there the same.
She pauses now and then to rest,
fanned by a gentle breeze,
That blows above the Fathers of all our FAMILY TREES.
There are pioneers and patriots,
mixed in our kith and kin,
Who blazed the paths of wilderness
and fought through thick and thin.
But none more staunch than Grandma,
who eyes light up with glee;
Each time she finds a missing branch for the FAMILY TREE.
Their skills were wide and vaired,
from carpenter to cook,
And one, alas, the records show,
was hopelessly a crook.
Blacksmith, weaver, farmer, judge,
some tutored for a fee.
Once lost in time, now all recorded on the FAMILY TREE.
To some it's just a hobby,
to Grandma it's much more,
She learns the joys and heartaches
of those that went before.
They loved, they lost, they laughed,
they wept - and now, for you and me,
They live again in spirit, around the FAMILY TREE.
At last she's nearly finished
and we are each exposed,
Life will be the same again,
this we all supposed.
Grandma will cook and sew,
serve cookies with our tea.
We'll all be fat, just as before the wretched FAMILY TREE.
Sad to relate, the preacher called
and visited for a spell.
We talked about the Gospel,
and other things as well.
The heathen folk, the poor and then,
twas fate, it had to be.
Somehow the conversation turned to Grandma and the FAMILY TREE.
He never knew his Grandpa,
his mother's name was ... Clark?
He and Grandma talked and talked,
outside it grew dark.
We'd hoped our fears were groundless,
but just like some disease,
Grandma's become an addict - she's hooked on FAMILY TREES.
Our souls are filled with sorrow,
our hearts sad with dismay.
Our ears could scarce believe the words
we heard our Grandma say,
"It sure is a lucky thing that you have come to me,
I know exactly how it's done, I'll climb your FAMILY TREE!
Author Virginia Day McDonald
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Many many years ago when I was twenty three,
I got married to a widow who was pretty as could be.
This widow had a grown-up daughter
Who had hair of red.
My father fell in love with her,
And soon the two were wed.
This made my dad my son-in-law
And changed my very life.
My daughter was my mother,
For she was my father's wife.
To complicate the matters worse,
Although it brought me joy,
I soon became the father
Of a bouncing baby boy.
My little baby then became
A brother-in-law to dad.
And so became my uncle,
Though it made me very sad.
For if he was my uncle,
Then that also made him brother
To the widow's grown-up daughter
Who, of course, was my stepmother.
Father's wife then had a son,
Who kept them on the run.
And he became my grandson,
For he was my daughter's son.
My wife is now my mother's mother
And it makes me blue.
Because, although she is my wife,
She's my grandmother too.
If my wife is my grandmother,
Then I am her grandchild.
And every time I think of it,
It simply drives me wild.
For now I have become
The strangest case you ever saw.
As the husband of my grandmother,
I am my own grandpa!
Author unknown
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It came from your father,
It was all he had to give;
So it's yours to use and cherish,
As long as you may live.
If you lose the watch he gave you,
It can always be replaced;
But a black mark on your name,
Can never be erased.
It was clean the day you took it,
And a worthy name to bear;
When I got it from my father,
There was no dishonor there.
So make sure you guard it wisely,
After all is said and done,
You'll be glad the name is spotless,
When you give it to your son.
Author - Edgar A Guest
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I started out calmly, tracing my tree,
To find, if I could, the makings of me.
And all that I had was Great-grandfather's name,
Not knowing his wife's nor from whence they both came.
I chased him across a long line of states,
And came up with pages and pages of dates.
When all put together, it made me forlorn,
Proved poor Great-grandpa had never been born.
One day I was sure the truth I had found,
Determined to turn this whole thing upside down.
I looked up the record of one Uncle John,
Then found the old man was younger than his son.
But then when my hopes were growing quite dim,
I came across records that must have been him.
The facts I collected - they made me quite sad,
Dear old Great-grandfather was never a Dad.
I think someone surely is pulling my leg,
I'm not at all sure I'm not hatched from an egg.
After hundreds of pounds I've spent on my tree,
I can't help but wonder if I'm really me.
Author Unknown
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If you could see your ancestors
All standing in a row,
Would you be proud of them,
Or don't you really know?
Some strange discoveries are made
In climbing family trees,
And some of them, you know,
Do not particularly please.
If you could see your ancestors
All standing in a row,
There might be some of them, perhaps,
You wouldn't care to know.
But here's another question, which
Requires a different view
If you could meet your ancestors,
Would they be proud of you?
Author Unknown.
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Lord, help me dig into the past,
And sift the sands of time,
That I might find the roots that made
This family tree of mine.
Lord, help me trace the ancient roads,
On which my fathers trod,
And led them through so many lands,
To find our present sod.
Lord, help me find an ancient book,
Or dusty manuscript,
That's safely hidden now away,
In some forgotten crypt.
Lord, let it bridge the gap that haunts
My soul, when I can't find
The missing link between some name
That ends the same as mine.
Author Unknown
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Yesterday,
All those backups seemed a waste of pay.
Now my database has gone away.
Oh I believe in yesterday.
Suddenly,
There's not half the files there used to be,
And there's a millstone hanging over me
The system crashed so suddenly.
I pushed something wrong
What it was I could not say.
Now all my data's gone
and I long for yesterday-ay-ay-ay.
Yesterday,
The need for back-ups seemed so far away.
I knew my data were all here to stay,
Now I believe in yesterday
A theme song for the computerized genealogist - by an unknown author - as published in "Missing Links" the Prodigy Genealogy newsletter
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