Dear Frank,

You and I have mused about a lot of things, and today seems like a good day to talk about pedigree.

My family had a solid pedigree, though it was never something we leaned on or led with. My mother, a dignified and elegant woman — well-read and socially astute — could hold her own in any room, with a poised ease that made her both gracious, caring, and memorable, all the while smiling at the airs of anyone who considered themselves “blue-blooded.” (You never knew my mother, Frank, but I think you would have liked her — especially her all-inclusive nature).  

So, with all those fine memories of Mama and her lovely, ever-present, fun observations back then, I come to the word “blue blood.”

“Blue blood,” by definition, refers to noble or aristocratic lineage — the old European families whose pale veins supposedly set them apart. These days, the phrase gets tossed around more loosely. Pedigree often parades in with practiced airs and a lifted chin, as if ancestry alone could bestow prestige. (I can’t resist a grin when I see that chin lift, as though the family tree itself were standing at attention, half-expecting a salute.) And I sometimes wonder:  If anyone who prides themselves on pedigree followed the family tree far enough back, would they really find an unbroken line of nobility? Or would a few colorful characters tiptoe in along the way — sneaking through the servants’ entrance and sidling into the parlor, a chicken tucked under one arm, never quite making it to the family crest but certainly into the family story?

And really, was there nobility at all? And if there were, can you rest your worth on such a fragile inheritance — a name, a lineage, a record kept on paper — when the nobility that endures is proven in how life is lived: not in where one’s roots were first planted, not in titles hard-earned by others who came before you, not in fortunes gained or lost, not in whether one was firstborn or last, not in the circles you were born into, nor in the reputation of a name alone. Those things don’t confer character, true leadership, wisdom, compassion, kindheartedness, or value.

Now, before anyone clutches their pearls about pedigree and legacy, don’t get your back up. I’m not trying to topple tradition. I can already hear the defenders of family honor clearing their throats! But truly, legacy, while lovely, isn’t the only measure of worth.  

And Frank, you of all creatures know that lineage doesn’t guarantee anything. I’ve never once seen you consult a family crest before hopping off to do great things.

There’s nothing wrong with being proud of where —and whom — you came from. (I adore the fact that some of our ancestors have been honored in the naming of some of my grandchildren). Lineage does matter, especially when what’s passed down are the good things — kindness in everyday life, honoring others, faith, resilience, and the traditions that shape character. It can be deeply comforting and gratifying to know you came from good stock. And part of the joy of that knowledge is being able to reinforce it in the next generation — letting your children know the best parts of what they’ve inherited, what they can live up to, and what they can carry further still. 

The truth is, pedigree may claim to hand you prestige, but character can’t be conferred. It may whisper of refinement, but true grace isn’t handed down — it’s cultivated. Pedigree might give you a sense of superiority (no matter how much you may deny it)  but a superior life doesn’t come by inheritance; it grows from a life shaped by kindness and integrity, by humility and resilience, by generosity and a genuine interest in others. And depth? That never rests in a bloodline.

What I’ve seen is that refinement is lived: in the way people are treated, in respect and a true honoring of others across all generations, in faith lived with devout steadiness, in the choices made when no one is watching, in books read and stories treasured, in consideration, in generous connection, and in laughter shared. That’s the kind of nobility worth tracing.

So Frank, as you hop from one lily pad to the next, remember — your true inheritance isn’t found in lineage or titles, but comes from a God who has made you uniquely His.

Love,

Jane

P.S. “It is He who has made us, and not we ourselves.” —Psalm 100:3