Genealogy

American Poetry Review, The, Jul/Aug 2003 by Tate, James

A man named Owen Metcalf approached me and said that, for one thousand dollars, he would research my family's history and write a short book on them. I said, "How far back would that go?" He said, "Oh, three hundred years or more, it depends." I said, "Well, I knew my great-grandparents when I was a little boy, but that's about it. No one's ever mentioned anybody before that." "I'm a professional genealogist, and that's how I make a living, digging up what's been lost along the way. There's usually some great surprises. You can pay me half now, and half when I deliver," he said. We made a deal and shook hands. I didn't hear from the man for six months. I thought surely I had been swindled. Then, one day he called and wanted to come by and see me. When he arrived, it was clear to me that he was very nervous. "I'm returning your money," he said. "You come from a long line of proud, upstanding people. It's just that the records are rather murky. Generation after generation, people were in the habit of disappearing. It's as if it were a family trait. No visible employment, no marriage licenses, no birth certificates. I don't really know how they got on in the world. Then someone is seen in a small town somewhere buying a gun or a bucket, then they're gone for another twenty years. They're like dust blowing in the wind. If you ask me, you're lucky to be alive." "I always knew that, sir," I said, handing him his money.

JAMES TATE'S most recent book is Dreams of a Robot Dancing Bee (Verse Press, 2002).