Roots

Knowing where you come from is important. I spent most of my life wishing I knew my roots. My father died when I was young and I did not really know his family. Being a mixed child growing up in a family where no one looked like me, I felt the need to identify even more. I felt like I didn't belong, an outsider in my own inner circle. I used to pray for a chance to talk to my father one more time and ask him everything I wanted to know about the family I actually looked like. Every few months as an adult I research my family- using the little I do know - hoping to find bits and pieces of the puzzle. Last night for the first time, I actually found something. I found my family listed on the 1930 census. My father was 3 years old at the time. I learned my father lived in Bryan, Ga as a child. My grandfather was a farmer and 15 years older than my grandmother (who I am named after.) Everyone in the family could both read and write. Which I consider a big deal in the 1930s in the south. Education has always been important to me, I guess it always has been in my family. I also learned that my grandfather died when my father was 6. So we share that experience. This may seem like little things but it means the world to me. It's not a lot but it is a small start in understanding my roots. It's the beginning of the story I am piecing together to share with my children so they can share their roots with their children. Who knows maybe one day I will write the whole story.