Remember that children’s book Are You My Mother? The image of the little bird questioning a steam shovel is permanently etched in my mind, and the story was likely one of my favorites because I was sure who my mother was. Same goes for my father. I was even lucky enough to know all four of my grandparents, three of whom lived well into their 90s, and one until 103. Beyond them, what I knew about my ancestors was mostly gleaned by piecing together fragments of conversation overheard during holidays or from the romantic, Scotch-fueled reminiscences of relatives. Looking back past the third generation, I was no different than the baby bird...
Read full Improper Bostonian article: Family Ties by Jonathan Soroff