THE WORM'S EYE VIEW: EASY DUZ IT
by
Beth Maltbie Uyehara: BUYE@aol.com
Hi. My name is Beth M. U., and I'm a geneaholic. My story's not a
pretty one. I am sharing it here in the hope that it may help others
avoid my pitiful fate. If you, too, are addicted to genealogy, I want
you to know that you are not alone. There are thousands of us
worldwide struggling in the daily battle against this cunning,
baffling and powerful addiction.
There was something "different" about me from the get-go. Looking
back, the signs were there for all to see. Even as a child, when
relatives threw old Daguerreotypes in the trash, I would fish around
among the coffee grounds and egg shells and pull them out. When old
letters or diaries were discovered in musty trunks, I stayed up all
night reading them. Obits, report cards, discharge papers, photos of
unknown people: I hoarded them all. I didn't care what kind of
document it was, or who it concerned -- if it was remotely connected
to "family," I had to have it.
I'm making no excuses. I had a good upbringing. Genealogy certainly
doesn't run in my family -- I come from a long line of people who
could take their ancestors or leave them alone. Yes, there were rumors
of an aunt on my father's side who "did a little research on
weekends," but she covered her tracks well, and I have never been able
to prove for certain that she was a geneaholic. Aside from that one
suspect, my relatives were all what we call "social genealogists." For
them, a colorful forebear or two were good for party conversations, to
be chuckled over at family gatherings, and that was it.
Not me. Right from the beginning, I was out of control. I could never
stop with just one or two ancestors. Every ancestor I found triggered
an insatiable craving in me for two more, and four more after that,
and eight more after that. I could not stop once I got started.
Eventually, genealogy took over my life. Bouts of compulsive research
would leave me babbling incoherently, slumped exhausted, sometimes
barely conscious, at a microfilm reader in some darkened room,
surrounded by other addicts satisfying their own shameful cravings for
genealogical kicks. Many are the times I've been thrown out of a
library at closing time, kicking and screaming, begging for just five
minutes more, just "one more ancestor for the road." It was
humiliating.
As the years went by, things went from bad to worse. It was an endless
downward spiral. I found myself sneaking from library to library in
distant parts of town, even in other cities and states, searching for
the ultimate high -- that mysterious immigrant ancestor, whose
identity would make everything fall into place. I hit bottom one hot
August day in a cemetery in a far-off state. How I got there doesn't
matter. Let's just say that after much research, I had located the
grave of an ancestor who -- according to family legend -- had died in
some kind of accident. As I stared at the weathered, old tombstone,
wondering how I could find out how he had died, the thought occurred
to me: "I could dig him up and see." Immediately, I recoiled, aghast.
"Eeeeeuuuuuuu," I cried, "yuk! That's gross."
That's when I knew I needed help. Since that moment of clarity, I've
joined numerous genealogy support groups where we offer each other
strength and hope, along with research tips and potluck dinners. And I
have finally admitted, to myself and to other human beings, that I am
powerless over genealogy and my research has become unmanageable. It
may be too late for me. But, science has found that young family
historians -- those who are, as yet, only potential geneaholics -- can
sometimes stop in time. Answer these questions to see if you are in
the early stages of addiction.
* Home: Has genealogical paperwork taken over any room in your house?
* Friends: Is genealogy interfering with your social life? Do people
edge away from you at parties when you burst into tears over the 1890
U. S. census?
* Family: Do your relatives' eyes glaze over when you explain your
latest research? Do you find dead people more fun than live ones?
* Work: Is genealogy interfering with your job? How many hours of each
workday do you spend on the Internet, or checking your RootsWeb
e-mails?
* Marriage: Has your spouse ever asked you, "Aren't you done yet? How
far back are you planning to go?"
* Health: Are you starting to show the physical and mental signs of
geneaholic deterioration, such as red-rimmed eyes, a loss of interest
in current events, a shortened attention span for non-ancestral
topics, excessive viewing of the History Channel?
If you answered yes to even one of these questions, you are on the
road to genealogical addiction. You must not research even one more
ancestor! You must stop NOW, before it's too late! When you feel an
overwhelming urge to research, repeat the following until the urge
goes away: "My mother found me in a cabbage patch. My mother found me
in a cabbage patch. My mother found me in a cabbage patch." Good luck
and God help you.
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purposes; and (2) this notice appears at the end of the reprint:
Previously published in MISSING LINKS: Vol. 7, No. 7, 17 February
2002, and written [or submitted] by [name, e-mail address, and URL, if
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