Solomon Jones: A search for roots uncovers a family story waiting to be told

MY WIFE, LaVeta, has become obsessed with Ancestry.com, the online genealogy site where census records, birth records, photographs and user interaction outline the history that makes us who we are.

That history is the very thread from which the cloth of family is woven. It is that cloth that forms the fabric of society, and indeed, the fabric of self.

I watched with amazement as LaVeta unfolded her fabric, and found pieces of herself in tattered records dating back a century or more. With each new revelation she discovered, I began wondering, along with my wife, what life was like for her forbearers in a time much different than our own.

For me, that sense of wonder was a passing fancy, but for her, it became a burning passion. It prompted her to search through generations. It caused her to tap the memories of elders. It eventually came to a head in a way that only an online endeavor can do. It caused her to stumble upon another woman who was researching the same family - a woman who turned out to be a relative by marriage.

Before long, the two women were trading e-mails. Then they were making phone calls. With each question they asked, with each answer they uncovered, with each ancestor they shared in common, they delved further into the mysteries of their roots.

There's something amazing about roots. The way they burrow through the rocky ground of truth and into the rich soil of the past. The way they define our strengths and weaknesses in the lives of those who lived before us. The way they twist around one another, revealing storylines that are impossible to explain.

Perhaps their convoluted nature explains why roots are inherently thirsty. The more we try to bury them, the more they demand to be watered. And the more we water them, the stronger they grow. LaVeta has begun watering her roots, and with each dollop of nourishment, their demands have become greater, because in truth, she is one of the roots that she is feeding. And now, she is thirsty, too.

That thirst for knowledge sent her to her parents' home, searching through boxes of old photos, documents and family heirlooms. A bible from 1868 with its leather cover falling apart, and its brown, tattered pages succumbing to the ravages of time. Another bible from 1891, published by Charles Foster Publishing Company, 716 Sansom St., Philadelphia. In that Bible, in LaVeta's great-great grandmother's own script, are the names and birth dates of each of LaVeta's great aunts and uncles.

As I share this journey of self-discovery with my wife, carefully scanning century-old photos, unpacking decades of heirlooms, reading old records online, and listening to stories she has been told, I realize that LaVeta is doing much more than unlocking her own story. She is unlocking our children's stories. And what a story it is.

It's a story that's told in the eyes staring out from a cracked and worn baby picture of her grandmother in 1909. It's a story that's told in the proud posture of her pearl-bedecked great-great grandmother, Sarah, who posed for a picture in her finery. It's a story that's scribbled on the backs of pictures; in census records spanning years and generations; and in the hope I see in my wife's eyes each time she discovers something new.

Tomorrow, she'll meet with the relative she discovered online, and the two of them will share what they've learned about their family. They'll exchange pictures. They'll pore over documents. They'll tell stories. While doing so, they'll laugh, cry and take pride in the roots they've begun to water. That simple act of sharing will not only answer questions from the past. It will build a legacy for the future.

That, after all, is what family is all about. LaVeta's great-great grandmother would be proud.

Solomon Jones' column appears every Saturday. He can be reached at

sj@solomonjones.com