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Your story started before you.

My grandmother Nina and her friend Sybil, circa 1920.

The young lady on the right is my grandmother, Nina Mae Reinecke. She was born in Pomona, Illinois in 1902. Her father was a German immigrant, and she was the oldest of three girls. She met and married my grandfather (after he returned from WWI) on Christmas Eve of 1924.

They had three children, who were raised in Murphysboro, Illinois. Their oldest son (my uncle) was a German POW during WWII, after his B-17 was shot down (he returned home safely). Nina passed away in 1984, when I was only 11 years-old. Even though I only saw her about twice a year growing up, I have fond memories of her home in Jacksonville, Florida, the town where she and her sisters spent their retirement years.

I remember how tiny she felt when I hugged her, her 1950s dinette set, the smell of cigarettes, the play-dough she kept in a dresser drawer for me and my sister to play with on our visits.

Even though it was for a relatively short time, I’m glad I got to spend time with my “granny”, who was a very special lady, indeed! ~shared by @retronan

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Our family legacy breathes life into our future.

This is my Grandma, Anne, jumping her horse “Red Spinner.” This is one of my most cherished photos of my Gran. She is an experienced horse woman with lots of stories to tell.
She often recounts the horror and excitement of her time hunting on Dartmoor, an area of moorland in South Devon, England. Protected by National Park status, this beautiful area covers 954 square kilometers. Dartmoor abounds with myths and legends. It is reputedly the haunt of pixies, a headless horseman, and a mysterious pack of “spectral hounds.” It has inspired artists and writers, from Sir Arthur Conan Doyle to Agatha Christie.

To me and my family, riding and hunting on Dartmoor is one of the best ways to get to know the moor, and to learn to ride with respect.
My Gran taught me almost everything I know about horses and the peaks and valleys of the horse world – from hunting, to running and jumping. ~shared by @elliott_th

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Dreaming of floating away on a cold winter day. “The Donut.” This photo was taken at my maternal Grandparent’s house in the 1960s.

My Grandfather, Papa, built pools for a living. So, they built their own pool after they decided to put down roots in San Antonio, Texas.

Of all six grandkids, I was the only one who was scared of the water, so I always wore a donut.
I could dog paddle, which I must have learned from my Grandparent’s cocker spaniel, Skippy. Skippy swam laps in the pool every day.

My Grandmother’s technique for teaching the kids to swim was to hold them in the water by the seat of their swimsuit and tell them, “now start paddling.” Once you achieved a nice strong paddling pattern, she’d let you go and you’d be swimming. She’d stay with you until you got the hang of it.
My Dad liked to float on his back and tried in vain to teach me. He’d lightly hold me under my back, tell me to relax my muscles, and then would slowly remove his hands. Then, I’d sink faster than a block of cement. ~shared by @srtruex

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If you don’t recount your family history, it will be lost. Honor your own stories and tell them too. The tales may not seem very important, but they are what binds families and makes each of us who we are. ~ Madeleine L’Engle

Meet Betty Jean and Carol Dean Patterson. My grandparents. This photo was taken in 1950, the first year their marriage.

My grandfather was Chief Petty officer in the Marines and my grandparents moved to Guantanamo Bay, Cuba in 1963, where they raised two children, one of whom was my mother.

Many years later, my grandmother moved to Florida and worked as a bank teller, eventually managing the bank.
She lived with my family and helped raise me. She was the most loving, patient, hardworking woman I’ve ever known. ~ shared by @jollymean

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We make music, we sing songs, we share stories of those who came before us. Their tune is our legacy.

This is my “Aunt Foot,” as I’ve always known her, but her birth name was Hattie Brown Mosley.

I look at this photo on my Mom’s piano every day as I practice, and it inspires me to keep on pressing on.

She was one of my great grandmother’s younger sisters and she taught at several schools in Mississippi. I’ve always known her as the senior musician in the family. (Patrice P. Eaton is garnering national attention for her lustrous mezzo-soprano, dramatically “affecting” portrayals and great versatility across the range of operatic and concert repertoire. A passionate exponent of the African-American spiritual tradition, Ms. Eaton is a founding member of the internationally-acclaimed American Spiritual Ensemble, and is a soloist on the Ensemble’s live recording, Ole Time Religion.) ~ shared by @patricepeaton

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Old family photos are windows into our past; this one opens into the lives of children from a great generation who would grow up and answer a call to serve in World War II.
This is my Father (right) and his siblings in about 1924. The only one of these children still surviving is my Aunt, the baby, who is now 90 years old.

My Father and his older brother both fought in France during World War II.

My Uncle was awarded a Military Cross “MC” and was at the liberation of the Belsen concentration camp, near Hanover in northwest Germany, in 1945. It was the first major camp to be liberated by the Allies.

My Father was awarded a Croix de Guerre, a “Cross of War,” which was bestowed upon soldiers who distinguished themselves by acts of heroism involving combat with the enemy.

This photo was taken at their family home in Fife, in the south east of Scotland, just north of Edinburgh. The family home is now a hotel. ~ shared by @whistlingrabbit

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Is it possible to feel like you *know* someone you’ve never met?

This is my grandmother, Myrtle Rachel Whitworth, in 1938. I’ve always believed her birthday was February 27th, but actually it was January 27th!

She didn’t even find out her real birthday (January 27th) until later in her life.

She passed away three weeks before I was born, so I never got to meet her.

Yet I’ve always felt that I’ve known her. My Mom told me that, even as a baby, I always knew who my grandmother was in photographs. But the older I got, the more I seemed to forget. That’s why I cherish this photograph so much. ~shared by @matt1782
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I love my family heritage. This is my great grandma behind the house that my family and I now live in.

She lived to be 99 here in this home, raising three kids, and gardening on her own until she was 96.

I want to be like her; living simply, but rich in love, peace, and the satisfaction that comes from hard work.

I’m so grateful for these photographs of her; they help me share her story with my children.

What kind of legacy do you want to leave behind? ~shared by @melissataylorphoto

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