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They would have distressed my grandparents, so I didn't tell them.

My weird thing is that you tell down, generationally, but not necessarily up. I also don’t have kids, but my god-kids (Maria’s kids) are also traumatized by stuff with their father who has a very similar story to mine. I would rather just talk about it with them as just a thing that happened to me that was similar to what happened to them. And we can all get help, or have dark humor or whatever we do to cope. But I am still not up to upsetting my mother who I think tried to do the absolute best for me and loves me (and this took me a long time to get to) by bringing up things just because I need an answer. So a very fine line to walk. I did get some stuff about my grandpa’s mental illness from my Uncle Walt as he was dying and I am very glad we were able to talk at that time. But the question of how in the hell did my grandma and grandpa meet is just not answerable- no one alive knows and it seems a very unlikely pairing.

I cannot imagine there are any secrets on my mother’s side of the family. We tell each other everything, into tmi categories at times. The exception being my mother’s biodad who died when she was young. I don’t know that part of the family at all. On my father’s side I only know what my one great aunt told me when she was still alive. None of them talk about anything. My dad has been gone for over 40 years and they can still barely bring themselves to talk about him.

there's a sense of handing down the family lore to me. That with the passing of generations you either open up about those secrets or all that history/context becomes lost.

There are things in my family that I think should be handed down because they could definitely affect future generations. For example, a nasty strain of alcoholism on Mom's side of the family. I suspect there's a genetic component that the family needs to be aware of. So we'll keep talking about great grandpa who drank the family farm away, and grandpa who ruined every Christmas via booze.

Then there are things that I want handed down because I think they're nifty—part of what makes us us. There's the grandmother who skied to teach at her one-room school house in northern Michigan 100 years ago. There's the other grandma waking up from a dream that her son was knocking at the front door saying, "Let me in, Ma, I'm so cold" at the exact time that he was treading water in the ocean due to his plane being shot down by the enemy. There are mysteries about name changes and temporary disappearances. There are stories about how people got through the Great Depression and the less-advertised side of the 1950s.

I'm glad that Labor Day weekend gatherings have become a thing, because those are great opportunities to share with the next generation.

My mom’s dad died of alcoholism when she was 12. We didn’t find this out until we were in our teens, from an older cousin. Interestingly, my mom got furious when we brought it up to her and would not talk about it. Both of my parents were alcoholics and deep in denial. Many years later, she decided to go to rehab, and the thing she said to announce it (while drunk) was “I don’t want to die like Daddy.” She stopped then and never had another drink.

Another, more romantic secret has to do with my grandmother and step-grandfather (Grandpa John). She divorced the aforesaid alcoholic grandfather when my mom was young and did not remarry until her four children were teens. They were all told that they fell for each other and got married quickly. However, long after they died, we found an old photo album of his, and there were pictures of her sailing with him BEFORE SHE WAS DIVORCED. And one page with a huge picture of her face that just said “Katherine”. Getting divorced in the 30s in the Upper Peninsula of Michigan was already shocking, so the family thinks maybe they were “together” long before anyone knew.

Then there are things that I want handed down because I think they're nifty—part of what makes us us. There's the grandmother who skied to teach at her one-room school house in northern Michigan 100 years ago. There's the other grandma waking up from a dream that her son was knocking at the front door saying, "Let me in, Ma, I'm so cold" at the exact time that he was treading water in the ocean due to his plane being shot down by the enemy. There are mysteries about name changes and temporary disappearances. There are stories about how people got through the Great Depression and the less-advertised side of the 1950s.

That is nifty and worth sharing.

My Cousin Toni taped a long interview with my grandmother before she died, and I have it. It's full of fascinating stories about growing up in the midwest in the early 20th century.

I have many questions that will never be answered. The answers died with my parents.

We lost so much when my mom died. My dad was better about sharing his stories, but there’s so much we’ll just never know.

I know that some of my mom's cousins were abandoned by their parents in the Great Depression and sort of had to raise themselves while bouncing among different homes, but I know no details about what caused it or what became of the parents.

I passed on a story or two from Dad's childhood shenanigans to his younger siblings, who'd never been told. By the time they were around and able to remember things, the brick-throwing fights and digging pit traps for the mailman were things of the past.

I know I’m missing (and/or misremembering) quite a lot of family history, but also none of us have kids so it’ll die with this generation anyway? Bummer, but then a lot of the history was bummer too (orphans and mental illness and alcoholism, oh my!). So…yeah. I find it fascinating, but we tried getting my dad one of those “tell us stories” books and he ended up talking about some dude he met in his small town who was an announcer for his favorite baseball team, which I’m sure was cool for him but wasn’t really what we were looking for!