Seriously! I don't kiss and tell about many things, but I'll make the exception here.
I'm Scottish!
I mean, I already knew I was; I've heard it through the grapevine.
However, there's something about figuring things out for myself that have always proved valuable and precious to me. Independent from the very beginning, I love discovering things all on my own. In fact, it's the only way I really learn anything. Since this past semester I have been fascinated with the idea of investigating my family history, my genealogy. Although I hope and pray that most of who I am comes from my mother's blood line and not my father's, ((God bless him)), I had this intense desire to research the Walkers first. Before this summer ever started I wrote it on my summer bucket list to, by the time the summer was over, have some research under my belt. Well, that hardly happened. My father, not the most talkative man to begin with, really didn't want to spend the extra few minutes on the phone to answer a few family questions. Upon asking for some history, all I got was a "mmmirdunnoughhhbyeeeughmm."
Anyways..
Here I am, in Freedom, Oklahoma visiting my old man. It's something that, if I'm completely honest, I haven't found any joy or peace in .. in a very long time. Somewhere along the line it became a duty as his daughter, a task as the recipient of his " I'm sending-you-to-college $$$."
May I mention that although I did not grow up here, except for four tiny years, I am "Oklahoma country" at heart. From my very soul, I love everything raw, free, natural and anything an original Creation of God. Call me crazy, but it speaks to me. It is beauty at it's finest, it's best. There is nothing, in my opinion, that shows the freedom and free spirit of Christ like a horse, loping, mane blowing in the wind; a look of fiery spirit, freedom and yet serene, gentle beauty in his face. Nothing quite as adorable as a furry little calf, beautifully shy, hiding behind his mommas legs. No sunset like a sunset in NW Oklahoma. No land, no matter what the drought has done to us, like the land my father, and his father, and his father, and his father have walked, watered, plowed, bled for, bled on, sweat for, sweat on and ran cattle on for years, for generations. So how I've been so wrapped in turmoil or whatever to miss the beauty around me or to neglect EXPLORING it on my OWN, I have no @#$%&*% idea. I'm so bewildered that I want to type the F word in all caps right here and right now... at least 12 times.
Regardless, here I am. And this time, I have stopped. Taken a few breaths. I feel at peace. I've participated in my own ways, ways that matter to me, around the ranch.. although I'm yet to wake up early. Shiz. (We'll try that tomorrow.) I've explored. I have dedicated time to running just to sweat in the Oklahoma heat, to walking around just to get a better feel of this Walker ranch, I've sat on the porch and just listened to the sounds of the LIFE all around me. Beautiful, beautiful life. Yesterday, I drove around in my favorite, and I do mean favorite, truck ever. Old Blue. I have no idea how old he is. He's dirty. And definitely out dated. AND I LOVE HIM.
Sooo.. Old Blue and I took a drive, hunting rattlesnakes of course. With none other than my Red Ryder (which will shoot your eye out, if you hadn't heard). We saw none. Which is proof God has a sense of humor; I never see rattlesnakes when I'm loaded but can't keep them away when I'm gun-free.
I found an old suitcase FULL of pictures, letters, memorobilia of my father from years and years ago. Precious, pure, beautiful. It's wonderful to see him in what may have still been his vulnerable years; years of his life before he was molded into the hard, crude, sometimes pain in the ass man he is today. Sometimes... ha ha. Who am I kidding.
I read countless letters he had written to his parents while in boot camp. Much to my surprise he does know how to write more than a one-liner. He wrote enough to fill up each card and sometimes filled up the back as well. I saw his vulnerability and longing for communication, human relationship, connection in his letters. I've never seen any of that in my dad before. I've never known him to long for or desire a relationship with anyone. It brought tears to my eyes. My father was not born an asshole. His father was an asshole. And probably my great grandfather.
Psalms 112.
Generational curses and blessings are real; they exist.
"Blessed is the man who fears the Lord,
who greatly delights in his commandments!
His offspring will be mighty in the land;
the generation of the upright will be blessed."
My father put up walls. Closed off his heart. Shut down emotion. Denied all before they could reject him. I don't know when it started but I know it didn't start with him and I know it still goes on today.
This makes my heart break for men; men whose papas were supposed to "answer their question" as John Eldredge states it in Wild at Heart.
Inside my dad is a little boy whose father didn't like him, didn't know what it was to love him unconditionally, pointed out the failures instead of the successes, hit instead of hugged, ignored instead of adored, stuffed him down instead of lifting him up.
I totally got sidetracked and off the point.
Before I get back on point, can I just say that, although I admit to stubbornly being too hard on the male species, I feel for them. I hate what fathers teach, and don't teach, their sons. It's heartbreaking. There is something about seeing a hurt little boy in a grown man's eyes that makes me want to hit the floor praying for all men... while simultaneously locating all the bad fathers out there and giving them an "Oklahoma how ya doin" from my rattlesnake hunting Red Ryder. "Say hello to my little friend!"
BACK ON TRACK:
(now that I'm tired of typing and what seemed super important earlier doesn't seem as important anymore....)
After talking to some family, a book was compiled with some family history in it many years ago. It takes us back quite a few generations.
(I found it yesterday. I've been hacking at the internet all day searching for information and records, as long as they're free. Screw you ancestry.com ... )
My father, Gary Lane Walker, is the son of Leland Andrew Walker whose father was Jerry Simpson Walker. Simpson was the son of Andrew Nixon Walker who was the son of Jabez Walker. Jabez, according to my distant relative that compiled the book, is the farthest back the Walkers can be traced except for his father and grandfather, both named Samuel Walker, from Ireland.
However, the book does go on to dig deeper into the ancestry of Jabez's wife, Keziah Balfour Walker. Keziah's parents were Elizabeth Dayton and Andrew Balfour IV.
Andrew Balfour's father was Colonel Andrew Balfour V who came to the colonies with his brother James; upon hearing of the American Revolution stirring up, James made his way back to Scotland with a purpose if you know what I'm saying. However, my great great great great great grandfather stayed and fought and, as you can tell by his title, was a colonel in the American Revolution. They have made a whole website just for him... and by "they" I do mean some of my distant family out there that I didn't know existed and is even more obsessed with genealogy than I am. Colonel Andrew Balfour apparently had a few illegitimate children...from a few different women... and, I really got a kick out of this, they even had child-support back then. Andrew was made to pay ten pounds to a lady that was having his little chillun.
Later, Andrew was shot and killed.
The end.
You can't blame me when I say I wasn't excited to stop there with my family history.
I wanted to know more about these Walkers... after all,
"I am very proud of my daddy's name." Right, Hank Williams Jr.?
Well, unless I am completely wrong and there are some Walkers out there with the perfect names and corresponding family members and birth/death dates... I have found FIVE MORE generations of WALKERS!
It does, however, mean that my cousin Della was wrong about some of our genealogy.
Jabez's father was Samuel. But Samuel's father was William H....
Actually, to make it faster/easier to type and read, here we go:
Jabez Walker
Samuel Walker
William H. Walker
Samuel Walker
James Walker
Robert Walker
There you go! Five names added to the list!
Robert was born anywhere from 1610-1630. Not very indicative, I know.
Native of Scotland, he was arrested for selling something illegally, hahahaha, and
somehow got to Ireland, where he started breeding like rabbits.
His son, James, was born about 1660 in Ireland is what I have read.
In 1718 he petitioned Governor Schute of Massachusets for permission to immigrate to the colonies. He and his six sons were granted permission and made their way here sometime in the 1730's. James son Samuel was born about 1694 and his son, William H.'s birthday could not be found (but I'm going to take the liberty of saying somewhere in the 1730's or 1740's.
His son Samuel was born in 1781 who begot Jabez, birthday unknown also, but married Keziah in March of 1834.
So, here we are, back to where the book left off.
I could be completely wrong on all accounts or I could be a genealogical genius and just uncovered my Scottish ancestors back another 200 years!
I'll go with option B.
Well, thank you for reading and being patient with my ever-distracted mind.
This genealogical genius is signing off.
I hope I spelled that right.
Good night.
