Over the years my dad has had a variety of different hobbies.  He’s been a HAM radio operator since he was a teenager and still dabbles in reaching out to whomever he can find that still operates.  When I was born he was teaching himself about photography and would snap picture after picture of us kids and then disappear into the basement where strange developing smells would waft up the stairs.  The photography hobby didn’t last that long though he would still take a huge camera bag on family vacations as if he were going on a safari for National Geographic.  As I got older I was embarrassed of that bag since it blatantly screamed tourist to all of the locals.  He then got into building his own telescopes.  Those telescopes were huge and amazing.  He spent hours upon hours in the basement grinding and polishing lenses for the scopes.  His finished product actually got an A- review from Sky and Telescope.  Now, my dad’s latest and longest lasting hobby is genealogy which he has been pursuing since I was in junior high school.  Because of that I now know that I’m German and Norwegian and Irish and Welch, French and…hey, if I keep going and sing this to the tune of the beginning of Rudolph the Red Nosed Reindeer I’d really have something. 

 I’ve always known about the maternal side of my family, most specifically my maternal great-grandparents.  They came over from Germany right before the Great Depression.  What an impression of America they must have had at first.  I always thought that once you knew when your family came to America, the search would end there.  I know nothing of my maternal grandfather’s side of the family.  My dad is digging much deeper on his side of the family. 

 My dad’s interest for finding where he came from was sparked after reading The Search for Bridey Murphy by Morey Bernstein.  Bridey Murphy is a true story of a woman who underwent hypnosis for regression therapy.  The therapist was able to bring the woman much further back than her childhood and supposedly regressed the woman all the way back to a former life where the woman was named Bridey Murphy.  The woman, while under hypnosis, was able to name and describe where she lived, which was a small Irish village and was able to perform a traditional Irish jig.  If I remember correctly, the woman was also able to locate her old home exactly in Ireland while under hypnosis as well.  Records of a Bridey Murphy existing were dug up and the woman’s supposed recollections were spot on.

 At first, my dad thought he would try to take the easy way around his quest for finding his ancestors.  Before genealogy, my dad tried his had at hypnosis.  It wasn’t unusual for my dad to pop his head in my room at night as I was trying to fall asleep.  “Psst…are you awake?”  “Yeah Dad, I am now.”  “Okay, I’m going to hypnotize you to sleep.”  “Whatever.”  And he would commence commanding my muscles to relax and guide me through what was supposed to be a pretty visualization.  The muscle relaxing part of his “session” was actually very calming but when he got to the visualization, he would lose interest or steam or patience and rush through it.  The slowly meandering stream became a rushing river and the sweet chirrup of the birds because an over powering commotion.  The soft and gentle breeze that should have been there turned into gale-force winds and that night I’d more than likely have nightmares.

 After realizing that his kids couldn’t be regressed since they hadn’t really progressed in life yet, my dad turned to charting a family tree.  My paternal grandfather had a pretty in depth tree that he had inherited from his father so my dad started his search by questioning the living relatives he had left on his mom’s side of the family.  My paternal grandmother’s maiden name was Gilman and my great-grandmother’s maiden name was Bouvier.  As my dad traced back the Bouviers he made a shocking and exciting discovery.  We were very distantly related to the one, the only, Jackie Kenney Onassis.  I don’t know how we are related to her, probably 100^th cousins or something so small that if I clipped my pinkie nail too short I wouldn’t be related to her anymore.  But still, the knowledge of having American royalty in the family is exciting.

 When I first found out whom I was related to, I pulled out the encyclopedia to study a picture of her.  Maybe I looked like her.  Maybe she had crooked toes too.  The more I learned of Jackie, the more I realized I was nothing like her.  Her toes were probably ruler straight.  So we didn’t have anything in common physically, oh well, that was okay.  I was still eager to tell my friends.  The day after I found out, I rushed into homeroom gushing, “Guess what?  Guess what?  Guess what?” and then promptly tripped over a desk.  I didn’t get that lady’s grace either.  When I told my friends, they didn’t believe me.  I didn’t want to be thought of as a liar, since the story was seemingly fantastical, so I let the subject drop.  I didn’t tell anyone else for many years until my ex-husband told me that he was related to Constantine.  Good for you, I thought, since my little claim to relative fame was actually considered modern history.  I told him about being related to Jackie O., which again was rebuffed.  I’m probably related to Constantine too, for crying out loud.  You are too.  He’s old enough.

 So, though I’m not graceful and petite, and so I didn’t shrink back to my pre-pregnancy size within days of delivering my daughter like how she did, doesn’t make me any less not related to this distant, distant relative of mine.  I don’t look good in a pillbox hat.  I will never marry a millionaire (or was he a billionaire?).  I will never be in the public eye like that remarkable woman.  I am me and I have a tiny little bitty piece of Jackie somewhere in me.  Just knowing that makes me feel a little bit special.  Knowing that makes me keep my head up when times are tough.  Knowing that makes me suck my stomach in when a picture is being taken of me.  Having history in the family is exciting even though it’s small.  Now when my great-great-great-grandchildren tell their friends and families that they are so very distantly related to one of the greatest first ladies of time, people will look at them and think: “Yeah, well I’m related to Constantine.”