This past week I have been asked to help two of my grandchildren with their family trees. They are in the first and second grades and have reports due about their heritage. My granddaughter interviewed me and asked questions about what it was like when I was her age. She was so surprised when I told her I had to wear dresses to school – no pants were allowed. I walked to school without supervision, carried a metal lunchbox and backpacks were unheard of. She thought that was pretty crazy.
I have this old steamer trunk in my garage that belonged to my parents. My husband drug it out to see if it contained some facts that might help the kids with their reports. This old trunk was hauled across the Atlantic Ocean by my own grandparents when they came to America in the early 1900’s. They came by boat from Edinburgh, Scotland. They settled in Atlanta, Georgia where my mom was born. My grandfather left his family when my mother was three and she never saw him again. My grandmother died in her mid thirties when my mother was just thirteen. I often wondered what they were like.
In this trunk I found pictures of them, old letters and cards. Memorabilia engraved with their name, McCulloch. I found old dolls made of wooden legs and arms, handmade doll and baby clothes. I found my mom’s ice skates from when she later lived near Cleveland, Ohio, and skated on Lake Erie. Beaded purses, bibles with hinges and a mans shirt – maybe my grandfathers? I will never know.
What I do know, is that Charles and Mary McCulloch were my grandparents, born in the late 1800’s, who immigrated from Scotland and gave me my mother. I’m thinking of restoring this old steamer trunk, preserving it and passing it along to the next generation.
We all have roots, something to cherish.