Aselin

Recently I’ve been working on my family history. I’ve always found this endeavor fascinating, but not had the time I would like to devote to the research.

My name “Aselin” is actually a surname from my grandparents. Fortunately for me when they immigrated from Canada they adjusted the spelling to a more Amero friendly A-S-E rather than the original A-S-S.

I know what you’re thinking. HA HA. Don’t think you’re the first.

Anyway, except for a bad stretch in fourth grade where the wordplay common among prepubescents got a little out of hand, I’ve always liked my unique name.

Because the lineage originally comes from France, I imagine my ancestry as cultured, cheese eating sophisticates. This last week I discovered an entire branch of the Aselin family I did not have recorded. It was an exciting event and I enjoyed entering the data into my little family history software program.

There were lots of exotic French names that piqued my interest, and I imagined the places where they lived. Soulanges, Rangite, L’Islet... I’m sure they are all spectacular picturesque locales where everyone wears berets.

As I was trying to sound out each name I came across one I had never encountered. Pierre Destroismaisons. I speak rudimentary French, understanding more than I can speak, but dang it, I understood enough to translate this one.

Historically the surnames of people come from their professions. This is why we have Bakers, Smiths, Tailors and the likes. Well Pierre, I’m not sure how excited I am to be related to you. The translation of his name could go either way. Maisons means houses. Destrois... well, he could be a demolition expert - although I’m not sure how much a demolition expert was needed in the 1600’s. More than likely Pierre was a cad. A rake. A Home wrecker. Grrrr.

Usually I’m intrigued by details of my ancestry. I’m confident I’m a conglomeration of centuries of genetic mutations and look to see elements of my quirks in the details I discover of them. Sadly, my forbearers were rather private people who left little in the way of biography behind. My paternal grandmother kept a travel diary of a trip to Europe she was fortunate to take. It’s a left-brained account of what she had for breakfast, lunch and dinner noting a few of the sights in between. It’s painfully lacking in personality, and besides the fact that it is written in her own hand, it gives little in the way of insight.

I had an uncle who served in WWII. As my father and aunt started to spin family tales I was so excited to hear about his story. All they gave up is he was mustard gassed during combat and always smelled like pickles. Really? This is all you got?

On and on it goes as the lives of my fathers are noted but certainly not elaborated upon. So the little insight of Pierre the French Home wrecker was not the sort of news I was happy about. I’m sure we all have less than savory characters in our family tree, but home wrecker? That’s a particular shame to have been proficient enough at it that you assumed the moniker like a profession and passed it on to your children. Aww, here come the little Homewreckers off to kindergarten. Ick.

Fortunately for me my mind keeps working while I sleep. I believe there is a hamster that lives in my brain that just runs and runs in his wheel. Often he wakens me with ideas, things I forgot, and inspirations. Imagine my elation when his little nudgings gave me the a-ha moment. Destroismaisons... Destroismaisons... Des Trois Maisons!!!!

Pierre was not the homewrecker I immediately assumed! He was a land baron! Des Trois Maisons really means, and is a better translation, Of three houses!!! Well this I can wrap my heart around.

Welcome to the family Pierre of Three Houses.

By the way, if one of them is on the southern coast of France, I’d love to visit!