Words by Tamara Salt // photo by Patrick Hawlik
I’ll admit it: I was not the kind of person who thought much about my family history. The most I knew was that we had a tendency to burn toast and misplace our keys, and that Great-Aunt Doris once claimed we were “descended from royalty,” though she also once tried to pay for groceries with a library card.
But then one random Sunday afternoon, fueled by boredom and an alarming amount of iced coffee, I fell down a rabbit hole on one of those ancestry websites (yes, I’m that white chic). And there it was: my family coat of arms. A real, actual crest—like knights and castles and banners kind of thing. I stared at it, half expecting it to start glowing and summon me to a secret society.
It was… surprisingly moving. Somewhere out there, generations ago, someone in my family had this designed to represent who we were. There were symbols I didn’t fully understand (yet), but I felt this weird, warm connection to people I’d never met. Suddenly, I wanted to know everything: what the colours meant, why there was a bird holding what looked like a spoon (a sword? a ladle?), and how I could display it without seeming like I was starting my own monarchy (of which I am very much opposed).
That’s where the idea hit me. It was the perfect artwork for my home. A reminder of those who came before me and as awkward and sensitive as I am, there are countless generations before me who share my nose, my idiosyncrasies and hopefully, my sense of justice (I’ll get back to you on that after more digging). I had my family Coat of Arms professionally printed, so that I can then display it in my home. Not for anyone else but me. As a reminder that I am just one piece of the puzzle.
It’s funny—something that started as procrastination became a way to feel more grounded. Learning about my family history didn’t change who I am, but it reminded me I’m part of a bigger story. And if that story happens to involve a slightly wonky bird with a spoon? I’m here for it.
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