On my maternal grandmother’s side:
- A fifth great-grandfather, from North Carolina, according to the 1810 United States Federal Census, and his son, my fourth great-grandfather, and two other of sons as well – all the sons living in Alabama – according to the 1840 and 1950 United States Federal Census.
- Another fifth great-grandfather, also of North Carolina, according to the 1850 U.S. Federal Census – Slave Schedules. His family moved to Alabama, well before the start of the Civil War, but I find no record of enslaved people there.
- Another fourth great-grandfather, this one in Tennessee, according to the 1850 U.S. Federal Census – Slave Schedules.
On my maternal grandfather’s side:
- A fifth great-grandfather, in Henderson, Kentucky, according to the 1850 and 1860 United States Federal Census.
- A fourth great-grandfather, also of Henderson, Kentucky, according to the 1830 United States Federal Census.
- And probably more – still investigating some names.
I’ve been investigating this for a while. There are no names of these enslaved people – the US Census didn’t track that, not before the Civil War, and not much after it for a few decades, even though those people were now freed.
Do I feel guilt or shame? No more than I do in general about the history of my country – and for that, I feel great shame, living in a country built on, and still operating in many ways, under systemic racism – often to my benefit as a white person. I can’t take glory nor shame in what these ancestors did because I didn’t know them and didn’t inherit anything from them but DNA – no land, no property, no heirlooms, not even photos. I think I’d feel vastly different if there was property in my family handed down from that time. I do see the legacy of slavery in attitudes of some of my elderly relatives that I remember growing up, something I realized early on without knowing that, indeed, some of my ancestors enslaved people. And in some attitudes of more contemporary relatives as well, unfortunately.
What haunts me though is how deep the legacy of slavery runs in my maternal grandfather’s side of the family, particularly the Dentons. I would have to assume that any black American who can trace their family back to Henderson County, Kentucky in even the early 1900s, let alone the mid 1800s, and that family has the Denton surname, is descended from those enslaved people, those people held by my ancestors. And if that’s you, and you need any help with tracing your family, let me know – I will help in any way I can.
But among all this family, there’s a relative from Kentucky who fought for the North, for the Union – who went to Missouri to sign up. I would love to know more about him.
As for my father’s side of the family, most branches of which has been in the USA since colonial times, just like with my Mom’s side of the family: it seems to have no enslavers – and at least one branch is from Georgia by way of the Carolinas. They were never as economically well off as my Mom’s side of the family (who were by no means wealthy – they just also weren’t share croppers).
What does it all mean, really? I don’t know. I am me. Maybe I would be a profound disappointment to my ancestors. Maybe they would be a profound disappointment to me. I am the sum of my experiences, in my brain makeup and, to a degree, my genetics – not in a creepy racist way, but in a I’m-prone-to-pre-diabetes-and-having-dishwater-gray-hair kind of way. And I have choices, and make choices, every day, regarding who I want to be.
Why do I care what my ancestors did, good or bad? Because it makes history all the more real to me.
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