Standing on the Shoulders of our Ancestors

Like many others, after watching the t.v. series, Roots, I began a quest to learn about my ancestry. I had an overwhelming need to find out who I was, from whom I descended, in short, who were my people. As an African/Native American, I knew little beyond my maternal and paternal grandparents. Growing up in Pittsburgh, Pennsylvania, I was surrounded by many different ethnic groups. I grew up in an Italian neighborhood, went to a then predominantly Jewish high school and attended a black church. My Jewish friends had traditions, recipes and pictures that went back hundreds of years, likewise for my Italian, Polish and Asian friends. I had no traditions or recipes that went beyond my grandparents. I often refer to what is called African-American culture as a bastardized culture. A culture forged out of slavery and its aftermath. Few, if any, African-Americans know the culture, the music, the foods, the traditions of more than two generations of ancestors. This has always saddened me. When Princess Diana died in 1997, she was buried in a cemetery where Spencers have been buried for hundreds of years. When that was reported on t.v., I once again felt that pang for knowledge of my ancestors. Someone once said that until we know from whence we came, we don't truly know where we are headed. I agree with that.

And so I began a quest for my ancestors, a quest for my story, a quest to see upon whose shoulders I stood.

I began by talking to my father's oldest brother, Uncle Chuck. Luckily for me, Uncle Chuck was a wealth of family history. In the old days, children did not partake in the conversations of adults. So, Uncle Chuck used to hide behind an old bureau and listen to the talk of the elders. This was in 1983, well before the popularity, and access to, The Internet. I was naive, a novice. I've made some mistakes, some missteps and miscalculations over the years. Perhaps the biggest mistake was to attempt to research my paternal and maternal ancestry at the same time. One of my paternal grandmothers was one of sixteen children. Her husband, my paternal grandfather was one of at least nine children. The maternal side was nearly as large. If you consider that if I go back three generations to my great-grandparents, there are 13 individuals, you can easily see the problem with my attempting to research both sides at the same time.

I will share in a later post genealogy hints that I have found helpful.

Twenty-five years later, there are more than 1,000 individuals in my family tree. I've discovered that one of my paternal great-grandmothers was born in 1861, the product of a Native mother and a white slaveowner. That she and my great-grandfather each brought three children to the marriage and together had ten children. That she became a very successful farmer and businesswoman, who, at the time of her death in 1948, had nearly 100 acres of prime land in Virginia. The story is similar on my father's side. I am fortunate enough to have pictures of many of these ancestors. When I look at their faces, lined, light and dark, keen and broad-featured, straight and nappy haired, I see courage, I see strength of character, I see the wisdom of the ages in their eyes. These images give me strength. There is nothing that I've encountered or could encounter in this, the 21st century, that could hold a candle to what they endured.

These are the shoulders upon which I stand.

T