The Last of a Kind

Something that's always interested me was just knowing who I was related to and where I came from. Why do I act the way I do and do I share any weird quirks with my ancestors? More importantly, I keep wondering if I'm actually honoring their memory with my life. I know my parents say they're proud of me for graduating college and holding down a job, but all that stuff's been handed to me. It might as well have come naturally. Maybe I figure if I find out my heritage, I'll be inspired to do something great or be more than I am now.

This weekend, I found out that I'm probably the last Ball to carry on the bloodline. Technically, the Ball name could still go on because my dad's cousin has an adopted son, but I'm the only one with the genes. But really, why is it so important? Nobody ever worries about being the last of a line. It's so medieval, you could say. Somebody better warn Heather to bear me male heirs or else!

What's strange is that of all the families that I'm descended from, the Ball family is the one I know least about. Aside from the Balls, there's the Kings (dad's mother's dad's family), the Hattabaughs (dad's mother's mother's family), the Qualls (mom's mother's father's family), the Wilsons (mom's mother's mother's family), the Mobleys (mom's father's family). Okay, maybe Pa's family is a little sketchy. But that's so weird. I know so little about my grandfathers' families and where they came from. I know that Pa's (mom's dad) father was killed when he was 9. Then Pop's (dad's dad) dad was Hobart Ball Sr. (Pop being Hobart Ball Jr.). I know that Hobe Sr was a farmer and Pop worked as a Western Auto manager for most of his life. Pop used to drink and smoke a bit, took awesome care of Nana after she got sick, loved fishing and hunting, was an awesome cook, served in Korea as a gunner on a B-26, and was the only family member I knew who'd actually cuss when they got mad. Oh! And he looked and sounded kind of like John Wayne. To me, Pop was the epitomy of being a man. I didn't see him as much as I did Pa, but Pop was a man's man. He never cried, he only got flustered. Pop was everything a man and grandpa should be. That's what the Ball name means to me.

On the other hand, Pa was also everything a man and a grandpa should be. Except he was a lot gentler. He cried and he wasn't afraid to show his emotions. He told me he loved me. One thing I remember about him was one time he felt bad about yelling at me for something. A few minutes later, he came up to me, with a tear in his eye, and apologized. Pa wasn't the smartest man around--I think he only had a 6th grade education--but he worked hard all his life and, despite a brief period of infidelity, really loved Grannie a lot. He also taught me how to fish and garden (like I remember it now!) and just how to be a good, caring person. Together he and Pop provided me with a sense of what it really means to be a man. They've both been dead for over ten years and I was still a kid when they died. I've had to try really hard to pick my brain, trying to figure out what they taught me about life. Are they passing on anything I need to carry on?

It's still strange to think that I'm the last Ball for right now, although it doesn't feel fair either. My cousin, even though he was born Korean, is still a Ball, even though he's adopted. In my mind, I want to take on the mantle of being that unique, last Ball and being able to pass that onto any sons I might have. On the other, I really shouldn't knock adopted kids, because I'm adopted into God's family through Christ and that's really where I get my life. None of what Pa or Pop taught me or passed down to me through genetics or wisdom matter as much as what I'm given by my Heavenly Father. And at the same time, I could consider Pa and Pop to be part of what God's given me to become who He wants me to be. How very strange...