The Family Tree

I am coming home from my family reunion on my father’s side. My great grandfather had 5 children; their descendents gather every few years to swap stories and add their kids’ names to the growing family tree.
I am fortunate to have not only a large family but one that gets along. There are no major fights: no one is nasty or estranged. We like each other; I like to be with them. How many families can say that?
My family is known to sire mostly boys, so there are a lot of branches with my last name. Ours is a well researched family. I am the 12th generation of my line to be in North America. At an early age we learn that Deacon William came from England in 1635. The chain goes as follows;
William < Samuel < Joseph < James < Nathaniel. It was Nathaniel who fought in the Revolutionary War. He then went westward, to Michigan, where this branch lived for the next 200 years;
Nathaniel < James < James A. < Edward J. < Klebar < Edward G. < Thomas, my father.
And then there is I, #12 of the line. Although I do not have children, my brother is doing the duty at passing on the family name; the 2 nephews are generation #13. They are already getting the genealogy spiel.

Although my family is well researched, I am dubious about some of the early stories. They are full of virtuous acts, heroism, and pious acts. Even as a boy I smelled a rat. Someone surely cleaned up the history books. What I wanted to know was the ‘dirt’. I sense the more interesting bits have been lost or whitewashed. I only know of 2 notorious members; one strikes me as a psychopathic killer. He was a big name in a certain religious sect; I get treated like a celebrity when I mention my last name around members of this sect.
Which makes me a sort of imposter. After all, one can not choose ones ancestors.