Wednesday, January 8, 2014


Over the years I have taught many Family History classes at church. It was always odd to me that I would be called upon to do such a thing. I really have no great fondness for genealogy. But, this call keeps coming my way.

Rather than teach about the IGI, pedigree charts, and family group sheets, I focused more on personal histories. On the first day of the course, I ask each class member to share their first memory. I caution them that the truth of that memory is less important that the memory itself. I say this because one’s first memory is usually when one is too young to understand what is really going on. At least, that is how it is with me.

My first memory has me sitting on a conveyor belt of some sort and I am wearing almost nothing. On that belt is a needle that comes around over and over again and pokes me on the bottom. An odd memory, to say the least.

When I shared it with my Mom she gave me some context to this memory. When I was three or four I was constantly getting sick. In those days, the medical professionals felt the all children should have their tonsils out as soon as possible. This, they felt, would make children less susceptible to common illness.

My Mom is convinced that my first memory outs me on an x-ray table and then later getting a shot in preparation for surgery. That may explain why to this day I am less than comfortable in an x-ray room. But, then again, who can be comfortable in there. Rarely does one go to an x-ray room for good news.

Skeleton helps verify my fears.

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