Sir Walter Scott, 1822 portrait

“Oh! What a tangled web we weave, when first we practice to deceive!”  Sir Walter Scott

I’ve researched my ancestry for the last few days – rewarding, fascinating and frustrating! I  enjoy a good puzzle, though!

Seems there are secrets, and I aim to find out what they are.   I’m sure you’ve heard the title of the poem below at some point in your life.  You may think, when reading or hearing the words, that that, is the truth of it.  Read on…

Haniel Long, March 9, 1888-October 17, 1956

Dead Men Tell No Tales

They say that dead men tell no tales!

Except of barges with red sails
And sailors mad for nightingales;

Except of jongleurs stretched at ease
Beside old highways through the trees;

Except of dying moons that break
The hearts of lads who lie awake;

Except of fortresses in shade,
And heroes crumbled and betrayed.

But dead men tell no tales, they say!

Except old tales that burn away
The stifling tapestries of day:

Old tales of life, of love and hate,
Of time and space, and will, and fate.

James Parker Long and Haniel Long

Many families have secrets and some, an abundance.  There seem to be some lies recorded;  those before me likely hoped that the lies and secrets, dead and buried with them.  The dead do talk, and more freely than the living!

With the documentation available to me, jiggery-pokery or outright lies appear. Judge their decisions, their secrets, how they lived and who they loved? I think not. Discovering my ancestry, who my grandparents were, my biological father, my lineage – meaningful.

Hey!  Stop doing that, Pinnochio!

When my children were small I’d tell them, “Your nose is growing, Pinnochio,” if I knew they were fibbing.  They believed me and mirrors proved it. Lies are easy to spot.

I learned that my biological father died in 2010.  He didn’t want to know me, and I suppose he felt shame, as he and my mother never married.  He later had other children and they aren’t interested either.  It’s an odd thing –  to have half brothers and a sister, who’ll never lay eyes on me.

I met him twice when I was in my mid-thirties.  He flatly told me that he wasn’t “going to be a father to me.” Actually, I would have liked to have a father, at any age, even now. I can take a hint, though.

Your point of view, comments, suggestions or questions are welcome.  I’d like to hear from you.

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