The Passage of Time

My great great grandfather, George H. Lewis

In a few months we’ll be entering another year. Another year into this century. I was born in the previous century, just past halfway, at the peak of the Baby Boom. As we chew our way through the twenty first century I reflect back on previous centuries.

Trained as a historian, I don’t see time the way many do. Obviously, time passes in my personal life as it does for everyone else, but historical time is different. For me, the American Civil War is relatively recent. The American Revolution? Further back. Hallowed antiquity starts with the Tudor era in England. In-between? The modern world.

Historians have this view of history. There’s a famous story about Chou En Lai (1898-1976) who was the President of China for a number of years. Chou was steeped in the study of history. At a diplomatic reception he was asked what he thought the implications of the French Revolution were. He replied that it was too early to tell. That’s a good historian.

I have always had a long view of my family history. Genealogy was an indoor sport for us, and for me it still is. You always have to be ready for bombshells and surprises, such as my mother’s discovery that she was descended from Anne Boleyn’s sister Mary, or my recent discovery that my wife and I are both descended from Sir John Hawkins, who was a leader in the English Navy under Elizabeth I and who started the transatlantic slave trade from Africa. You can choose your friends but you're stuck with your relatives.

Getting back to centuries, as the nineteenth century and earlier recede into the past I remember that growing up the 1800’s were not that long ago and were still in living memory. My grandparents were all born in that century. My maternal grandfather was born in 1876. He would be 143 today. Not likely to still be around, which of course he isn’t. With the passing of the twentieth century he has receded into the past. So have great aunts and uncles, and some aunts and uncles as well. My parents, both of whom survived into this century, were born in the 1920's. They met and were married when they were both around thirty so they were a decade or so older than the parents of many of my friends. It didn't matter to me. It was normal. I grew up hearing about my father's experiences in World War II, not in tones of glory, but rather with regret that war was so destructive. He entered that war in 1943--seventy six years ago. At least for the more recent generations in my family the generations have stretched out longer. My mother's father, born in 1876, was fifty when she was born. He was already old enough to be an grandfather.

With the nineteenth century no longer the last century I’ve also left behind significant ancestors. My great great grandfather George H. Lewis, who died of dysentery in 1863 in the Civil War. My Great great great great great grandfather Jared Lewis, who served in the American Revolution. Also Robert Monroe, who died on Lexington Green.

I have left behind many whose names I don’t know yet.

I’m left by these reflections with a feeling of mortality. Hm.