I haven’t been counted. In my genealogy research, census reports have uncovered many mysteries in the recent past of my family, yet I have not been in the past two or three censuses. ARGH. How did that happen?
The last one in 2010, I was in North Plains, Oregon, just west of Portland, living with my husband in our own home. We waited patiently for a census taker. I assumed one would come knocking or a letter would arrive in the mail. Something to allow us to be counted and found in decades to come by family history researchers finding me of some significance in their family tree.
No one showed up and nothing arrived in the mail, and I forgot about it, until last year when the numbers started coming out! Without me!
In 2000, we were living in Israel and no one contacted us about being counted in the states as we weren’t living there.
In 1990, where was I? I was living in Seattle alone. No census taker came by my place that I know.
In 1980, hmmm. Good question. I was in Spain or Everett, Washington. Depends upon when the census takers would have been out working. I was a vagabond, living out of a backpack, going here and there as whim, jobs, and life took me.
In 1970, am I listed? I was living with my family, a kid running wild in the woods. We were in Lake Stevens, Washington, out on our quasi farm/ranch in the once backwoods of Snohomish County.
What about as a baby. Was I in time for the census then? Am I listed?
Okay, 2020. You are a few years away, but I’m ready for you. I’m going to be on that census report hell or high water. I spend too much time pouring through census reports looking for lost relatives to not be among the counted when it comes to generations in the future digging through current census reports and finding me.
ME! That’s right! I want to be counted. Don’t you?