Previously I wrote about the dangers of relying on only information from death certificates as memories can be faulty when a loved one is asked for grandparent’s middle names and the like at a time when emotions are fraught. This reminded me of the equally perilous point that birth certificates can also tell a story and I need look no further than my own parents for this evidence. Here is their story.
William (Bill) Robert Hart
Once my Aunt Betty, my dad’s sister, had mentioned as an aside to me, “Well, my mother put one over on my dad with your father’s name.” Sadly, I never followed up on that comment and now she is gone as was my dad by the time I uncovered the evidence that there was indeed something amiss with my dad’s name.
In cleaning out my parent’s house as my mother had moved into an assisted living facility, I came upon their strong box, the place where they “filed” all important papers. It was then, sitting on the floor of their closet that I saw my dad’s birth certificate for the first time. Right there, clearly stated, First name – Robert. Middle name – William. Huh? All my life I had not only been told but had seen my dad’s name listed as William Robert Hart. He was called Bill and no one had ever indicated William was anything other than his first name. Confused, I turned to his passport, which by the way was obtained after September 11 when security and documents required for such credentials was heightened. Sure enough, that passport, the first one he ever had, listed his first name as William. How had that happened? He must have had to present his birth certificate. I quickly rifled through the rest of the pile in that strong box. There were my dad’s naval service records and ID cards from World War II. And again contrary to his birth certificate, his name was written the way I had always believed it to be, William Robert Hart.
This conjures up many questions. What had my Aunt Betty meant when she said their mother had put one over on their father with my dad’s name? Had she wanted his first name to be Robert? Or had she intended it to be William and her husband completed the birth certificate? Had she then just called him William until it stuck? In searching for an answer, I wondered if there had been either a William or a Robert in the family tree of either my paternal grandfather or grandmother that might explain what must have been a disagreement between them about my dad’s name. The closest relative named William was my grandmother’s great grandfather, William Bennett. There was no Robert anywhere. This did not seem a likely explanation for the mystery of my dad’s name order.
And now, they are all gone. The mystery will never be solved. If only…I had asked my Aunt Betty to explain her meaning, If only…I had seen that birth certificate sooner and asked my dad. So many questions, not the least of which is, how did he manage to obtain a passport in times of heightened security, showing his name as the one he always used, despite what official documentation of his birth showed?
I will never know.
Barbara Claire Sundberg (Hart)
During that same day as I paged through the documents in their strong box, I almost carelessly tossed my mother’s birth certificate into the pile I was putting aside for my genealogy box. I would file it later. My mind was still reeling from the questions regarding my dad’s birth certificate. But, a little voice told me to unfold it and look, especially as she was alive and could answer any questions about hers, which I did not expect to uncover. But…there it was. Another discrepancy.
I had always seen my mother’s name written as Barbara Claire Sundberg (Hart). Here on her certified birth certificate, her middle name was spelled, Clare. This made a bit of sense to me as her grandmother’s name was Clara and this spelling of Clare seemed closer. But, again, her entire life, including that post 9/11 passport listed her middle name as Claire. When had this changed? Who had changed it? Finding at least a partial answer was a bit easier as I just needed to drive over to her assisted living apartment. When I asked, she nonchalantly shrugged her shoulders and waving her hand, replied, “I just liked the spelling with the i better so I wrote it that way.” Okay, but again, who in the County Courthouse had issued a passport to her with the incorrect spelling? I thought the country was on high alert and documents were being scrutinized. My husband and I had bought and sold two houses in this era. I knew the paperwork required and Greg had even been subjected to several rounds of affidavits swearing that he was not another Gregory James Smith with a criminal record. Our ten year-old son was once stopped in an airport over a confusion that he was another Andrew Gregory Smith on the no fly list. But my mother had no answer to my query other than, “People know us” when I questioned how it was that she had received a post 9/11 passport with the wrong spelling of her given middle name.
And the lessons? Ask questions. Assume nothing. Scrutinize documents but always remember we are humans. We make mistakes. We have our agendas, as my paternal grandparents clearly did. I wish I knew that story. Do you know yours?
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