Blank Family Tree Forms: Fill & Download for Free

Hello!No, he couldn’t care less about increased spending or covid related deaths which have now reached a staggering 10,588,998 Cases and 246,092 Deaths. President Scabrous Scrotum is officially branded as a loser and that is why he desperately wants to steal the election but it won’t work!Joe BIden will win, and he will be our 46th president. Period. And the corroded oversized manbaby in the White House can't handle the stain of being a stupid loser. Gofin Von Fatfuk can bluster and protest all he wants but that will still not change the outcome of the election.Speaking of lawsuits, to prove my point, Yesterday, Tuesday, during the oral arguments, a Pennsylvania judge asked Jonathan S. Goldstein, a lawyer for Trump point-blank whether he was alleging fraud.Here’s the exchange:“Your Honor, accusing people of fraud is a pretty big step,” Goldstein said. “And it is rare that I call somebody a liar, and I am not calling the Board or the DNC or anybody else involved in this a liar.”“I am asking you a specific question,” the judge pressed, “and I am looking for a specific answer. Are you claiming that there is any fraud in connection with these 592 disputed ballots?”“To my knowledge at present, no,” Goldstein replied.“Are you claiming that there is any undue or improper influence upon the elector with respect to these 592 ballots?” the judge asked.“To my knowledge at present, no,” Goldstein conceded. https://www.democracydocket.com/wp-content/uploads/sites/45/2020/11/11-10-2020-Trump-v-Montgomery-County-BoE.pdfSo there you have it. There’s no fraud.“Election officials in dozens of states representing both political parties said that there was no evidence that fraud or other irregularities played a role in the outcome of the presidential race, amounting to a forceful rebuke of President Trump’s portrait of a fraudulent election,” the newspaper reported. The Times Called Officials in Every State: No Evidence of Voter FraudSo It's time to heal America's bitter divide. And by heal, I mean arrest everyone associated with the genetic septic tank Trump calls a family tree. Arrest his oldest kids. Arrest that maniacal milquetoast mannequin Kushner. Hell, dig up Trump's daddy and arrest that mothafucka too.And by that time, my Trump book will be published and I will get more ass than a jacuzzi on a Liberty University f#ck yacht. Just don’t tell my lovely wife…

We need more information to truly help you. Please message back if you need more help than this post. First off most people do not have a published family tree. You have to do some of the research to connect to published trees. Plus not all trees are sourced and factual. I recently saw a family tree in which the family had the God Thor as an ancestor in the 1400’s.Now how to start your tree. Start off with a free membership of Genealogy, Family Trees & Family History Records or with Family Search a free family tree site run by the Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-Day Saints. You do not need to be a member to use the site nor do you have to get visits from their church to teach you. Please google “Family History & __________” Fill in the blank with your county and state to find the nearest Genealogical Society that holds seminars to help you get started. At the same time check if there is a local Family History Library. My community has one in the lowest level of the library with librarians trained to help you and there is often a local Family History Library at one of the local churches.There are free videos on Family Search to teach you how to do research. Watch a video or two teach you how to start your tree. Go to Family Search, click on the top right side of the page on the “Get Help” the click on “Learning Center”. Scroll down to find a video to help you.Good luck.

When I dug into family history, I discovered just the normal types of things; like that my grandfather was an assassin.More specifically… this was my grandfather:You may recognize this from the movie Inglorious Basterds.And this was his weapon of choice, to do what he did:His wasn’t an actual baseball bat. He used a club. His name was Mieczysław Lemieszek. That was my grandfather. His first name means “sword of glory”, but he was a century too late for swords, so he used wood. Heavy wood.His specialty? Not Nazi soldiers, but Ukrainian collaborators in WWII. Traitors. Oh, he wasn’t Jewish like Sgt. Donnie Donowitz here, from Inglorious Basterds. He was born in Ukraine, but he identified as Polish. And Catholic.Back in the late 80’s, my granddad was getting up there in years. He had made it through WWII Europe with his very large family, and only lost 2 children. Luckier than most. He brought my 16 year-old mom to America and her 8 surviving younger siblings. I grew up hearing a ton of stories about their days in the Nazi camps. But I wanted them documented, before he was gone. So one evening, after I’d gotten out of the Army and went back home, I bought a bottle of Polish vodka. I brought some kielbasa, rye bread, dill pickles, a cassette tape recorder and a handful of blank tapes. I was determined to get it all… get his life recorded; in between shots, and bites of this most traditional Polish “visitors food”. If company drops by, you always have to feed them… something. And more often than not, it was kielbasa, bread, pickles, vodka, and conversation around the kitchen table. Oh, and these are Polish shots. Not wimpy American-type shot glasses. Polish shot glasses are juice glasses.I cracked open the bottle, put my first cassette tape in, and pushed “record” as we sat in his kitchen. I got him talking; started out at the earliest year he could remember, well before WWI. He told of getting his mind blown one day, working in the fields and seeing his first airplane fly over head. He told me about the Czar, the Russian revolution, the ever-changing borders between Russia, Ukraine and Poland; ever-changing masters, that made it impossible to know what your true heritage was. We went forward, year by year, for his entire life. Eventually we got to WWII, when the bottle of vodka was about 40% gone. He went through many of the stories that now were more familiar to me; things my mom remembered. Being shuffled across Europe, struggling to keep the whole family together, through all. But then he got to one period of time that I never heard about before. Undoubtedly, it was all the vodka that loosened him up enough to reveal some especially dark things, that he had kept to himself until now.There was a period when the Nazis were in charge, and he and the whole family were in the work camps. The Nazis put local people in charge of the prisoners, so they themselves didn’t have to walk among them as much, and smell the stench. So a type of “boss man” was chosen. It was always a Ukrainian. He was also a prisoner, but he got extra food, to keep the Poles in line and working. They were called “Kapos”, and they wore a special arm band.The kapos had to be strict, but they didn’t really have to be assholes. And they didn’t have to be cruel. Many of the people they were in charge of used to be neighbors. There was a particularly cruel Kapo in charge of my grandfather, who had no problem singling out other prisoners for fatal beatings. And late at night, in the few minutes before everyone fell asleep from exhaustion, it was often whispered of what to do about the monster in charge. Everyone had reason to fear being a random victim of a power-trip.One particular day, one of the young prisoners was caught after he had committed a terrible crime. He was 15 or 16 years old and had 6 other siblings. Both of his parents were gone, by who knows what senseless manner. They were lost to the chaos of war and he found himself as the protector of what was left of his family. So he committed a crime. He pried an old loose board from the edge of one of the huts where the Kapos lived, to provide a few minutes of warmth for his brothers and sisters. A single board to burn; perhaps to cook something they found or warm up what passed for soup in the camps. Who would notice one board? But somebody did notice; or somebody ratted; or somebody figured it out. Whatever the case, the Kapo wouldn't stand for this. He had found another reason that he could beat someone to death and impress his Nazi masters with his ruthlessness. The camp was shaken at the announcement of the execution. Everyone knew the boy and liked him. Everyone respected his efforts to keep his clan alive despite his young age. The boy was taken and there was nothing anyone dared do to save him.But the Kapo was kind, and to prove it he allowed the boy to say goodbye to his brothers and sisters before he would be clubbed to death. He dragged the boy to the hut they were in. The children went out of their minds with grief and they cried and begged for it not to be so. A crowd had gathered to watch the spectacle in disbelief. The Kapo stood his ground but perhaps regretted allowing the goodbyes, instead of his usual fit of rage and immediate murder of those who enraged him. At that point an apparent miracle happened… and he changed his mind. He may have had a moment of conscience, or what was more likely, he may have feared for his life in that crowd. Nobody knew. The boy lived and got just a normal clubbing and kicking. But it was enough.The mere fact that this monster was about to murder this child who alone watched over even younger children… it was enough that it even crossed his mind. It was too much. My grandfather, that very evening, became part of a group of four, who were going to do something about it. And they did. Right away.My granddad and two of the other men hid in a shed; the fourth man went to get the Kapo and gave him some excuse that would bring him inside the shed. Inside the shed, where three very angry and very strong Polish men waited with heavy wooden clubs. The Ukrainian never made it out of the shed.The four men waited for retribution from the Germans. They feared mass punishment. But it never came. Not a word was spoken of it. A new Kapo was brought in. He wore the armband. Apparently, he didn’t know what happened to his predecessor, because he was as cruel as the first. The group of four decided to push their luck. They planned a repeat of the last operation. Again, the three waited in the same shed. The new Kapo was lured in, and again my grandfather and his two friends caved in his skull with heavy wood, while the fourth man kept watch outside. My grandfather had beaten his second collaborating Ukrainian to death.Again, nothing was heard from the Germans about the assassination. Apparently, life was less than cheap, and deaths among prisoners weren’t worth bothering with. A third Ukrainian was put in charge. My granddad said this one wasn’t that bad. He did what he had to do, but no more. Unfortunately, he was only there for about two months, before one day he was gone and a different Kapo was in charge. Another stranger. He started out to be decent, but after several months he became as bad and cruel as any of them.I was sitting in that kitchen listening to this incredible story of how my grandfather used clubs to crush the skulls of traitors, in WWII. He spoke of it matter-of-factly, but with bright, slightly bloodshot eyes. I was amazed at what I was hearing. He paused then. We cut some more kielbasa and had a couple mouthfuls in silence. I poured another two shots. “Na zdrowie!” … he used his left arm to help raise up his right arm holding the glass, and we downed them.He sat looking at the bottle, but actually looking back half a century to a Nazi work camp, where he was surviving with his family. I had to ask… “What happened to the fourth Kapo? Did you kill him?” I couldn’t believe I was asking this of my grandfather, who I saw with quite different eyes that night… and forever after. He looked at me. “No”, he said.I nodded my head, and asked no further. I was ready to move on to the next year in his life, as I checked the tape recorder. It was still running. We moved to the next year, and his story continued.But half my mind was still thinking about his last answer to me. You see… he was speaking Polish this whole time. His answer to me, was in Polish. And in Polish, “no” doesn’t mean what it means in English. It was pronounced “nuh”, and it can mean many things, depending on context. And this particular night, it meant… “Well, what do you think?”My grandfather lived into his 90’s, for several more years after that night. I got his entire life narrated on three 90 minute cassette tapes that night. I still have that same bottle of Wyborowa Vodka, about 30 years later. I have never let it go empty. I save it only for shots, and whenever it gets down to about 3″ or so, I buy another bottle and pour it in. The bottle is bottomless. And the contents are partly the vodka I drank with my grandfather that night. Here’s that bottle, the “shot glass”, and a photo of him, in his tall Cossack boots, next to my grandmother; in better days, between wars.And here he is, less than two years after the event that I described above:It was a great night that I’ll never forget, as I learned about my family history. And about my amazing grandfather… who did whatever it took to get his family and himself through that hell of a war. Even be an assassin of monsters.All of this really puts things into perspective. Our current and future generations need to have a sense of this perspective. Today, we struggle with issues like mortgages, or even disasters like floods, hurricanes or fires. We even struggle with the horrors of being ordered to confine ourselves to our homes for two or three months, with nothing but TV, internet devices, and tou hless delivery if pizza to our doors, while a pandemic lingers outside out doors. Yet, even as overwhelming as these events may be, they can’t compare to the terrors that many of those who came before us had to endure and conquer, for years on end, simply to keep families alive. These are not ghosts from dusty history books, but people… family, who are so recent that we recall their voices; their voices recalling an entire world gone mad; a world that was allowed to go mad, not so very long ago.As a matter of interest, Wikipedia does a decent job of describing kapos: Kapo (concentration camp) - WikipediaYeah, my grandfather was a bad-ass. He had to be.I’ve discovered that I come from some pretty good stock. The story above was about my grandfather on my mother’s side. But my dad had some incredibly clever and daring deeds and experiences in that war as well… including an escape from a Nazi camp. If you're interested in more obscure WWII history… Stefan Pociask's answer to What is your favorite old family photo?