Family Folklore
On Juneteenth I remember the freedom stories of my family; accounts embellished overtime of how our ancestors became free. My most favorite tells of forefathers in South Louisiana, who ran from French plantations and adopted English surnames. At that time a new group called “les Américains” had moved in; Protestant of Anglo and Scotch-Irish stock with unrefined speech and customs. Many old French Catholics kept away from these new neighbors, and this created a situation that was beneficial to slaves. They could run and hide away in the state’s American areas, where they would convert to Protestantism and take new patronymics.
My forefathers new religion and surnames were not African, but they helped them to have a better hand in exercising their agency. Each one of them wanted to reset the narrative for future generations, and this is one explanation for my family becoming “Williams”. According to our folklore, our fathers crossed streets and sometimes marshes, and when questioned by White Americans they would assert their new identity. There are also stories of Black Americans passing by, who would claim to be their relatives and validate their stories.
Plantations to Playgrounds
Last summer I visited places where my fathers might have been enslaved, and I marveled at the way my two-year-old son treated them. Unlike me, who walked about with a mournful reverence, he ran about the way he does at playgrounds in a park. As a toddler he was unaware of our deep family folklore, but he knew the joys hoped for by the people in its legends.
They hoped for families not split apart and sold away.
They hoped for work and rest at times of their own choosing.
They hoped to come and go without receiving permission.
They hoped to not be property, and live as human beings.
My son treating plantations like playgrounds, as Don Belton writes, is what our fathers prayed for. And if the legends about them are true then our English surname is the Amen to their prayers. But regardless of what is fact, the legends reveal a faith that goes beyond waiting. The legends reveal a belief in a good future that compels one to seek joy in the present. Despite ills like the constant threat of separation, our fathers still raised families, had moments of leisure, and saw themselves as people. They put feet on their prayers before running from their captors, and knew more than pain and struggle in bondage.
I often tell others to not pity my ancestors, and to not see them as only victims of oppression. Indeed, there were many things that were taken from them, but these things were not taken easily. Each man held a tight grip on what he loved, and this is why their captors were so brutal. Their hold on their wives, children, dignity, and humanity was so firm that they had to be ripped from them.
Legacy
My forefathers wished for their stories to not bring shame to show who heard them. They wanted them to bring a sense of pride as their descendants saw what they left them. As I recall their legends I cannot help but be proud, for among the myths within them shines a selfless love. This love is the truest part of my family’s folklore, a constant commitment to the well-being of others. Out of this commitment my fathers took the risk of running away, and hit the reset button for future generations. Their actions aimed for more than personal freedom, or the freedom of those they knew in their lifetime. My fathers cared for the well-being of people that they would never meet. They loved those like my son and I who bear a name they very well could have chosen.
Indeed, I can only be proud of my fathers whose faith and example inspires me today. Like them I walk the road of fatherhood in chaotic times, but their courage and sacrifice gives me hope for the future. These things also give me a proper set of values, that call me to focus on what matters in the present. And what matters, more than all of my great accomplishments, is the freedom to live as they longed to. To have a family without the fear of separation. To work and rest at my own volition. To come and go without a asking for permission. To be aware of and walking in my in full humanity.
What my fathers left behind is a legacy of love which I hope to pass on to future generations. But in the meantime I am passing it on to my son who I hold with a firm grip while telling their stories.