So, I finally broke down and went to one of my family reunions.

I couldn't believe it myself but since my sister and also my genealogy buddy planned the whole event I thought it was the least I could do, to show her some support. And I must admit, I had a great time.

Although Saturday was rainy in south Georgia at least it was fairly warm. Much warmer I might add than up here in the mountains. We arrived promptly at nine and began setting up the genealogy table. I had pictures of relatives long gone. From Granny and Grandaddy to their great grandparents and everyone in between. As the first guests arrived I stationed myself behind the table, available to answer any questions.

I was amazed at the number of people who approached me with questions or at least curiosity about our family. Most of these people I had not seen in over twenty years while others I had never met.

It was interesting to meet everyone there, to remember past history. A history that most of us in the room shared. I began telling my Granny stories, as members of my family refer to them and others joined in.

I was however mildly surprised at the lack of interest the twenty somethings exhibited. As their grandparents approached me with glee in their faces to see pictures of their family I couldn't help but notice the dead, uninterested glaze that shielded the eyes of these young adults.

They weren't interested in the least to learn that their ancestors fought in the civil war or that one of their great grandfathers traveled beside cousin George Washington across the Delaware. Of course the truly tragic part was when they were asked at the front door to tell how they were related to the Womack's or Lanier's, most of them had no clue. I in fact had to give them their lineage.

Now me, a person who had never met these young folks had to tell them from whence they came. Suddenly I became a know it all, of course some of my acquitances would say I always have been..

The day was chopped full of people reacquinting and boisterous laughter. I suppose that in families, it is always that way. We can go twenty years without seeing or hearing from one of them and when we do it is as if time stood still. We walked up the hill to visit the cemetary and we even drove down to the house that Granny was raised in.. A desolate shell of a home revealing it's former glory in subtle ways.

As we stood in that old house the memories came flooding back to the older ones in our group and for an instant you could see this old house as it was then. Lace curtains, hurricane lamps, and gleaming mahogany furniture. The old place was alive with laughter and the sounds of children playing in the front yard.

I hated to leave it but as dusk descended the house grew dark.
We had brought our ancestors back to life and I almost swore that as I drove away from "the big house" I could see Granny standing in front of the lace draped window, waving a fond farewell but not goodbye.

We'll be back next year.