I became interested in family history/genealogy in high school, while on the search for that elusive Native American connection that so many families have passed on… you know the one.

The infamous Indian Princess.

Was it close enough to assist me in obtaining some scholarships to college as my mom (hoped) wondered? Well, it never panned out for college. We got stuck in those early attempts at my great grandfather’s birth on Big Ditch Rd.

Because, didn’t you know, the family lost a lot of records in The Great Chicago Fire.

And all of that is just my mom’s side of the tree. And, no, despite a brief stint in Chicago, the Great Chicago Fire has yet to affect their records that I’ve found.

My interests increased when my husband and I moved from Ohio to Arizona in 2005, and I met a woman who helped me to really get started on researching my entire tree. That started a passion, some might even call it an obsession, that I have plugged away at ever since in spite of another cross-country move (this time to Kentucky), and 3 children ranging in age from 6 down to 3 months.

I research a lot of lines. Too many, probably. But they all mean something to me. I research my mom’s mother’s family, as well as my mom’s biological father’s and her adopted father’s, despite the drama it may cause. My parents divorced when I was 3, so I research my father’s line because it helps me to feel more connected to his large family. I research my step-father’s family, because he, for all intents and purposes, has also been my dad since I was 8. I research my husband’s lines because my children carry his name and should know both sides.

So, in total, I research at least 9 lines.

Too many? I don’t think so, but it does mean I am the proud owner of a tangled, disorganized, but very much loved, mess.

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