I do not like genealogy. Never have. Probably never will.
I can be standing in line at the grocery store or at the airport and a complete stranger will end up telling me his genealogy. All the way back 8 generations.
It’s gotten to be a family joke.
But, I don’t find it funny. I must have a sign on my back that says “Tell me your genealogy.” Maybe it’s God’s way of punishing me for not liking genealogy.
It’s the searching-for-dates-frustration that I don’t like. Do I care when great-great-great grandma Annie Katrina was born? Nope. Married? Nope. When she died? Not really. Heartless little cuss, aren’t I?
On the other hand, I must say that I have helped family members write their personal history. Like my Dad. My father-in-law. My step-mother. My step-mother’s father. That ought to give me some grace in God’s eyes don’t you think?
However, my crusty anti-genealogy heart got a kick out of this movie!