Researching Family Roots With My Father Brought Us Closer

Growing up, I was only mildly interested in hearing about them, but seeing photographs of my ancestors sparked a particular curiosity. I wanted to go back as far as I could in our family history and trace my way forward to the leaves on the tree that bore the names of my children. My father had already gathered old history books and letters from relatives who had delved into the details of his family tree, but the roots only went back to the 1700s.

My quest to learn more about his past delighted him, since I was the first child to show interest in continuing my father’s research. At the time, neither one of us knew how to use a computer, so our search abilities were limited to the dusty archives of our local library. But together, my father and I huddled over the dining room table to chart whatever documents, birth records or faded photographs we could get hold of.

We created a handwritten spreadsheet on reams of construction paper to visually connect the timeline of our heritage, spending every Sunday afternoon documenting our latest findings. After my husband taught me the basics of using a laptop, I googled how to begin a genealogical search and found multiple websites for tracing family roots.

I created an account on one of the websites and entered my family members’ names — and then the search took on a life of its own. I received dozens of hints on additional relatives; copies of birth, marriage and death certificates; census reports, newspaper clippings, military records and obituaries. My father was as giddy as a child on Christmas morning when I unearthed historical clues that led us to relatives from 1490 Scotland.

Dad grew up believing he was of German and Irish descent and, as a history buff, was astounded to learn that our early bloodlines actually originated from Scotland. We were side by side at the table, and his eyes misted over as he squeezed my hand and expressed how much he enjoyed researching the family lineage with me and how appreciative he was of the hard work I’d done. It brought us closer in ways I’d never imagined, revealing facets of my father’s personality through stories from his childhood I’d never heard before. We dreamed of visiting Scotland together and began mapping out a trip to explore the sacred ground where our ancestors rested.

When my father was diagnosed with leukemia a year later, I never imagined that he wouldn’t beat the cancer. I continued the genealogical research to keep his spirits up — and it worked, at least for a while.

I lost him two weeks before Father’s Day. Needing time to grieve, I left the family pedigree files untouched.

It was years before I was ready to resume my online research, but once I clicked on the little icons bearing my forefathers’ names, I was instantly transported to those sunny afternoons spent at the dining room table with my father.

My research continues, as ancestry websites frequently update the information gathered from DNA results in their databases. I recently found a Scottish lord from 1440: my 15th great-grandfather. My father would be thrilled and proud of my discovery, but no prouder than I am of myself for continuing his work. In many ways, tracing my family roots feels like traveling a road to a place where my father still lives — the place my ancestors call home.

AARP essays share a point of view in the author’s voice, drawn from expertise or experience, and do not necessarily reflect the views of AARP.​