Who They Were

After weeks of searching, I finally found my family. I have traced them back to the ship's registries when they arrived in America. It was not an easy task since the names I had been searching were not the names that were on the passenger lists. For one family, the first names were different. For the other family, the last name was different. In those days, immigrants were scared of authority and were compliant. The did not want to rock the boat, no pun intended. They did what they were told. Most families came to America in stages. Usually the father or eldest son came and they brought over the rest of the family person by person. On the ship's registry, they had to account for who paid for their ticket and where they would be residing when they arrived. I know the houses they came to and have even looked at them on the internet. They still look exactly as they did, from the outside. One was in Williamsburg and the other in Cobble Hill. I keep thinking about the names, though. For instance, my grandfather, spent 16 years with one name. He boarded the ship with that name. As soon as he stepped foot in America, a stranger renamed him. His identity was forever changed. How did that feel to him? It took 99 years for his granddaughter, me, to acknowledge who he really was. Even though it doesn't change a thing, it still matters.