The Lighter Side ...
: Thanks to this information, I found all of my five fathers.
Uhhh ... four fathers ? Uhhh ... fore fathers ? ... FOREFATHERS!
Later reviews have been written in my
Genealogy begins as an interest
Becomes a hobby
Continues as a vocation
Takes over as an obsession
And in the last stages
Is an incurable disease
"The book was alright, but I prefered the musical ... "
I Am My Own Grandpa
Many many years ago when I was twenty three,
I got married to a widow who was pretty as could be.
This widow had a grown-up daughter, Who had hair of red.
My father fell in love with her, And soon the two were wed.
This made my dad my son-in-law - and changed my very life.
My daughter was my mother, for she was my father's wife.
To complicate the matters worse, Although it brought me joy,
I soon became the father of a bouncing baby boy.
My little baby then became a brother-in-law to dad.
And so became my uncle, though it made me very sad.
For if he was my uncle, then that also made him brother
To the widow's grown-up daughter who, of course, was my step-mother.
Father's wife then had a son, WðWho kept them on the run.
And he became my grandson, for he was my daughter's son.
My wife is now my mother's mother and it makes me blue.
Because, although she is my wife, she's my grandmother too.
If my wife is my grandmother, then I am her grandchild.
And every time I think of it, it simply drives me wild.
For now I have become the strangest case you ever saw.
As the husband of my grandmother, ... I am my own grandpa.
Oh, I'm my own grandpa.
I'm my own grandpa.
it sounds funny I know but it really is so,
oh, I'm my own grandpa
I'm my own grandpa
I'm my own grandpa...
it sounds funny I know
but it really is so
Co written in 1948 by
Moe Jaffe and Dwight Latham
A bit extreme, isn't it ?
I've been doing family history for nearly 30 years,
Diligently tracing my illustrious forebears,
From Pigeon Lake to Peterborough, Penrith to Penzance,
My merry band of ancestors has led me quite a dance.
There's cooks from Kent and guards from Gwent
and chimney sweeps from Chester.
There's even one daft fisherman lived all his life in Leicester,
There's no-one rich or famous, no not even well-to-do,
Though a second cousin twice removed once played in goal for Crewe.
I've haunted record offices from Gillingham to Jarrow,
The little grey cells of my mind would humble Hercule Poirot.
I've deciphered bad handwriting that would shame a three year old,
And brought the black sheep of the family back to the fold.
My bride of just three minutes, I left standing in the church,
As I nipped into the graveyard for a spot of quick research.
Eventually I found an uncle, sixty years deceased.
That was far more satisfying than a silly wedding feast,
After three weeks of wedded bliss, my wife became despondent.
She named the public records office as the co-respondent.
I didn't even notice when she packed her bags and went
I was looking for a great granddad's will who'd died in Stoke on Trent
But now my 30 year obsession's lying in the bin
Last Tuesday week, I heard some news that made me pack it in.
Twas then my darling mother, who is not long for this earth,
Casually informed me they'd adopted me at birth!