Cheri Boyd's Blog (15)

The Past

Wrinkled faces

each indentation telling a story

of a time past,

and whimsical dreams.

Indentations of tormented moments,

deep thoughts,

and life through squinted eyes.

The face once smooth

now holds wrinkles,

it can now cradle and contain

the tears that once flowed.

Happiness of birth and sorrow

from death,

driven aches of fear,

and the thrill…

I write about Frank Boyd, not just because he was my grandfather, but primarily because his family was never known by my father.  Frank died in 1960, I was four.  Old enough to remember that I had a grandpa.  Old enough to remember what he looked like.  Old enough to know that we had no relatives from his side of the family.

I write about Frank Boyd because he told that he was from Waycross, GA.  I found Frank Boyd in Waycross, GA because he told that he had sister Mary and…

What shame did I bring upon you the descendants of Peter and Parilee.

Tell me the turmoil that exist in your hearts that made you forget about me.

Surely tears came to my mother's eyes when she thought about me.

When my father gazed North,  I know he cared about me.

When my name was spoke, was there a hush, shhh don't speak about me.

What have I done that you've said nothing to your children about me.

A letter was written, it's contents never…

If my father was Peter, and mother was Parilee wouldn't someone remember me.  

If I had brothers and sisters named Lucy, Henrietta, Annie Lee, twins Mary and Martha, Jessie, Beatrice, Emanuel, Shadrach and Laura, wouldn't they want you to remember me.

If I came from a small place called Waycross, left home, you tell me you wouldn't remember me.  

Wouldn't you want to know about my son, Cecil, and his children.  Particularly the one writing this, Cheri, who won't let you…

If my father was Peter, and mother was Parilee wouldn't someone remember me.  

If I had brothers and sisters named Lucy, Henrietta, Annie Lee, twins Mary and Martha, Jessie, Beatrice, Emanuel, Shadrach and Laura, wouldn't they want you to remember me.

If I came from a small place called Waycross, left home, you tell me you wouldn't remember me.  

Wouldn't you want to know about my son, Cecil, and his children.  Particularly the one writing this, Cheri, who won't let you…

Tomorrow is July 4th, Independence Day.  I was thinking not of our country's freedom, it's independence, but of my grandfather, Frank Boyd and his independence. Frank was the son of Peter and Parilee Boyd from Waycross, GA.  Born 1898 or about's, I have know ideal when Frank arrived in Columbus, OH or why he decided that this would be his home, but he did and I'm here. 

I was told by Frank's sister Lucy's grandson (genealogist you know this lingo) that when Frank left…

Today I've been sick, matter of fact, I've been sick for the last several days. Despite it all, today has been a good day.  Why?  Today I put photos on my GenealogyWise page.  Photos that are vivid because I can remember when some of them were taken.  

Looking at pictures of my grandmother, Maud Wise Hairston, and putting them on this site.  Aiming that not only does her life continue because of her children, their children, but her name continues because I won't let it die.  She died…

I'm searching for an answer to a story that only I was told, or so I believe because no one else knows about it.  One day in the late 60's my grandmother told me story.  It wasn't a made-up before you go to bed story.  It was with wistfulness and cloudy eyes.  The kind that you share and it makes you happy and sad at the same time.  Why me and why that day, could it had been preordained that genealogy would be my forte?

She spoke about when she was little and how she and her…

I wish I didn't see things.  Pictures in my mind of what a place once was, used to be.  You were once here, you walked these streets.  Back and forth, to and fro.  Wasn't it natural that you tried to find more in life, and now I'm trying to find you.  

You never questioned me.  How do I know because I only think of my own children, and the children they will have.  Until now, and who will I be, I pray they will remember my name.  Never before had I thought of the next and next…

I find dead people.  I try to find dead people.  It is my hope that I'll find someone who is alive that will tell me more about that dead person.  In my own equation of life, I question my sanity.  Looking for something/someone who's life is buried.  Always asking the question "who were you?"  

Tempting as it is to stop, it's hard.  Could it be my addicted personality?  Perhaps, but finding them helps explain who I am.  My own existence is based on past ancestors, not just from my…

I recently added a byline to another genalogy site - Finding Pieces Of Me.  Isn't that why we do this, locating relatives live or deceased , knowing that our ancestors make up genectically who we are.  Wondering which side of your family you are most like.  Searching for pieces of yourself. 

Attempting to give a name, find a name , a place in time when someone of your family breathed and walked upon this earth.  Questioning your uniqueness and aspirations.  Were they lost on…

I feel an inmeasurable lost.  I can't find people.  People who never knew about me but once had to have the dream of a great grandchild or great, great neice. 

I feel an inmeasurable lost because there is someone with a name who has walked this earth, lived a life and I know nothing, can't find anything about them.

I feel an inmeasurable lost because when I have reached out to someone for that glimmer of hope there has been no response, and I have concluded…

I just came across some interesting information regarding my grandfather, Frank Boyd. Frank originated from Waycross, Georgia. What I now know about Frank is his mother's name was Parilee and Peter Boyd was his father.

What is my interesting information? Frank had a wife. Her name was Inidiana and they had a daughter, Annie.

To some this just may be this is great, you found a grain, that little piece that gives our search gratification. What I found was…

I previously wrote "Searching For Me" but have come to an additional afterthought. I look like my father, Cecil Boyd.

Out of his six children that's what everyone said. Then I thought of his father, Frank Boyd. Frank died when I was five, so my recollection is not that keen but I remember that his complexion was a reddish bronze. He had high cheekbones and shiny soft hair, known to African American's as good hair. But there were his eyes. His eyes seemed to have the ability to…

We have mothers and fathers and think that's enough. It's not. You look at their faces searching and wondering how theirs made you. Finding an ancestor says that's where my eyes come from. I like wearing socks and loafers. My parents didn't but someone in my past does. I know this because I don't know a name, and haven't seen a face, I know their walk. They walk like me, or I walk like them.

I successfully researched my mother's father side and was able to obtain information…