HMM. I’VE ALWAYS enjoyed hot tea with breakfast. Turns out this tea-fancying might be a genetic thing. Turns out that my English roots are deeper than I thought—on both sides of my family.
I had known something about the Shelburnes. If I’m not mistaken, a number of them from way back during frontier days were Baptist preachers—till they saw the light, of course. (Just kidding!) Further back, the Shelburnes were loyal Brits. Maybe too loyal. One of our forefathers on that end of the family was a Parliament big wig (eventually prime minister, I think, and a one-time friend of Ben Franklin) during the time around the American Revolution. If my old forefather’d had his way, we’d all still be subjects of the Crown. As it is, the whole messy colonial business was pretty detrimental to his political career.
Anyway, regarding the Shelburnes, I have known at least
something. But my brother Gene joined my father recently as our clan’s
representatives at the
It seems that my 12 greats-grandfather was an Anglican
priest named St. John Shropshire. He came across the pond to
Also interesting, at least to me, was the fact that my great-grandfather Benjamin Shropshire was a cowboy with a glass eye. My brother remembered him whipping it out and cleaning it, but I had no idea about that since I never met the gentleman, who evidently lost his real eye when he got his rope tangled and a cow’s horn poked out one headlight.
I wonder what else about my not-all-that-far-removed ancestors would surprise me totally? One thing’s sure. The decisions about life and faith those people made years ago still affect me today in more ways than I can even begin to imagine. I wonder how many generations down the line you and I are affecting right now by the choices—good, bad, or otherwise—we make each day?
I wonder. Tea, anyone?