I am not, as of yet, a Historian. I have begun to build up the skills and assets of one, almost on accident. I have a passion for the truth, and love to share important lessons, actions, or novelties I have discovered in reading with the people around me. I have read many academic works of history, and have even read multiple accounts of the same events (see Ross & Hudelson’s By the Ore Docks and Fedo’s The Lynching in Duluth). I take a sick sense of satisfaction in reading the dispassionate spite found in the notes of a researcher’s work aimed at their rivals and betters, and it feels almost like a positive emotion when the simply note a limitation (“Oh! We’re all so mature”) and it becomes uncontrollably sick when I, as in the cited example, find both accounts to be waylaid in their biases in a manner that my own is not. It is almost too much to bear. [In all honesty, noting differences and limitations is professional, and we should all do it more.]
No, I do not plan to become a hist…