My two-cents worth and then some. An online journal by LP Brown.

Browsing Category Family

The Family Tapestry: Weaving Stories That Endure

by on ·Family, The Writing Life
I took this snapshot of the family homestead in the days following my beloved grandmother’s passing. (Her friend, Miss Lou, is seated on the porch near the mourning wreath, with a hat covering her face.) Seeking to honor my grandma’s memory and keep her close, I transformed this image into a 30″ x 20″ poster shortly after making the photo. It is a window to happier times.

Some months ago, while rereading Legacy, I recognized opportunities for improvement. Although most of my research-based information was accurate, I identified some omissions that would have clarified more on specific points. This realization prompted me to request that Amazon reduce the initial price of the book. My hurried completion of that manuscript was primarily motivated by a desire to publish the book before my mother passed from a terminal illness. Unfortunately, time ran out, and though mother read portions of the draft, she never saw the finished work.

I’ve been considering writing Legacy II: The Next Generation for some time. Sadly, I regret the missed opportunities to gather meaningful oral histories from elders on both sides of my family. (However, given that my cousin, Velda, has extensively documented our paternal lineage, I will continue to concentrate on exploring my maternal ancestry.)

Now that I’ve rapidly aged into the “senior discount” demographic (How fast time travels!), I’ve developed an almost obsessive fascination with preserving our family’s history. The anecdotes and tidbits I’ve saved throughout the years might be the genealogical gold mine that turns some future great-great-grandkid into the Alex (or Alexa) Haley of our family tree.

Even if it serves only to clarify family connections or provide entertainment at reunions or other gatherings, preserving family narratives and capturing fragments of our shared past feels worthy of bridging the gap between generations and keeping our family’s legacy alive.

As I write this, memories of past interactions involving some of my aunts and uncles resurface in my mind.

Aunt Anne’s Slot Strategy – Ah, the glittering world of slot machines – where dreams are made, and wallets are emptied faster than you can say “jackpot”! Some decades ago, I (a reformed slot machine enthusiast) was tagging along with my Aunt Anne in the casino (probably in Atlantic City).

Aunt Anne wasn’t just winning; she was making it rain so hard that I half expected to see Noah’s ark float into the lobby. Naturally, I had to know her secret. Was it a lucky rabbit’s foot? A deal with Lady Luck herself? Nope. Aunt Anne’s wisdom was more straightforward than pulling the lever on a one-armed bandit.

Her sage advice? “Go big kid or go home!” Okay, she didn’t say it quite that way, but she suggested simultaneously putting the maximum number of coins in the slot instead of playing it safe by inserting one or two coins per play as I had been doing. “If there are five coin slots, then play all five.” She said. (That was before buttons and touchscreens phased out handles, and the machines took cash instead of tickets.)

Now, my wallet usually screamed in terror at the thought of playing max coins instead of the minimum. I needed to make my “play” money last until it was time to go home, not blow it all in the first 30 minutes. But on those rare occasions when I had a little extra play money, I channeled my inner Aunt Anne, went all in, and sometimes got lucky. Boy oh boy, did those coins sing a sweeter tune! It was like upgrading from a French horn to a full orchestra.

Aunt Precious’ Skincare Wisdom – Aunt Precious and I were both visiting at Grandma Hattie’s and were about to head off to who-knows-where when I whined to Aunt Precious about my skin doing a complete 180 from teenage oil slick to desert landscape dry with age. Her advice? Nivea Creme. Talk about a miracle in a little blue tin! Not only did my parched skin drink it up like a cactus in a rainstorm, but throughout the years, strangers were stopping me to compliment my glow – probably wondering if I’d discovered the fountain of youth or just really good lighting.

Aunt Sarah (aka Sain) and Aunt Ida, my dynamic duo of favorite aunts! These ladies weren’t just relatives; they were my partners in crime, my go-to confidantes for all drama, and keepers of secrets (Okay, some secrets. We’ve all heard the gossip line warning, “You ain’t heard it from me. If it gets back to me, I’ll know who told. I’ll just say that sometimes my “secret” got back to me.)

But back to the sweet memories. Let’s start with Aunt Ida. She knew I enjoyed fishing and when I visited her, she would reel me in for the occasional fishing trip, usually at a nearby creek.

But her real talent? Being my personal New Year’s Eve alarm clock. Without fail, she’d ring my phone annually around midnight to wish me a Happy New Year. If I weren’t at home, her “Happy New Year, Lo!” greeting would be waiting on my answering machine. And did I say that she was the best hugger ever? Aunt Ida didn’t give a half-a** or side hug; she hugged so warmly you didn’t want her to let go.

Now, onto Aunt Sarah. Aside from being a beautiful soul inside and out, Sain was my makeup guru. While my mom was stuck in the “lipstick-only” era, Sain introduced the teenaged me to the wild world of mascara. Soon, I was applying eyeliner and lipstick like a pro.

For my Sweet 16 birthday, Sain gifted me a gold-plated chain-link bracelet with my name on it. Oh, how I adored that bracelet. Sadly, a few years ago, that bracelet pulled the ultimate disappearing act. It’s probably hiding somewhere with all those missing socks from the dryer.

Aunt Doris was no ordinary seamstress—she was a fabric virtuoso with an enchanted sewing machine! As a wide-eyed preteen, I spent a few nights with Aunt Doris and Uncle Earl, alongside my cousins Michael and Rhonda during summer break. The recollection of the breathtaking apricot swing dress adorned with intricate printed patterns my aunt made for me during that visit remains forever etched in my mind. (If memory serves, it was the same weekend their puppy tragically met its end after leaving the yard and wandering onto the country roadway, leaving us children devastated.) But returning to the brighter recollection, Aunt Doris could sew creations like no other.

A few years ago, I wrote a letter to Aunt Doris, reminiscing about the dress and reiterating how much joy it brought me while it fit. Her puzzling reply? “What dress?” While Aunt Doris’ recollection may be hazy, in my mind’s eye, I can still see that exquisite dress and myself twirling in it until I outgrew it.

Uncle Wheeler (Buddy)—I could write so many wonderful things about my beloved uncle, but I’ve already exceeded my word count, so I will have to save that for a future post.

Memories resemble those cherished family recipes the older women knew but never wrote down or passed on. I’m sure all my cousins have their treasure trove of “remember when” to share, but these particular gems are mine. They are etched permanently in my brain and might find their way into Legacy II.

To my frustration, several writing projects have been simmering for some time, but any author will confirm that composing a blog post is far less daunting than crafting a book. It’s comparable to threading a needle or delivering a ten-pound infant after hours of labor.

“We are shaped first by family and then by the rest of the world.” – Anna von Gogh

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When the Family Tree Rings

by on ·Family, Genealogy

I’m sitting here, fingers flying across the keyboard, deep into writing about ancestral detective work, when my phone rings.

“What’s up?” chirps the voice on the other end, “You busy?”

“I’m writing a blog post,” I said.

“What’s it about?” He asked.

“Genealogy,” I reply.

“Another one?” comes the response, dripping with enough judgment to fill a family Bible.

I’ll admit, I immediately considered channeling my inner drama queen and belting out a “BYE FELIPE!” (That’s the male version of saying, “Bye Felicia.”) and dramatically slamming down the receiver. But my professionalism, good manners, and fear of breaking my phone prevailed. So I sat listening, rolling my eyes, and tapping one foot until our conversation ended, and I got back to writing this.

My daughter, Nikki (named after the incomparable Nikki Giovanni), has caught the genealogy bug. Trust me, once bitten, it’s harder to cure than the urge to pop bubble wrap.

I remember reading Giovanni’s poem Scrapbooks in the ’70s when bell-bottoms were all the rage and disco was king. One line from that poem remains etched in my memory, “Sometimes it seems my life is a scrapbook.” I find that so relevant.

Delving into genealogy is like playing detective in your family tree; you dig with a symbolic shovel and examine findings with a magnifying glass. If you’re lucky, you will discover a treasure chest of memories, and every time you uncover a new tidbit about your ancestors, it will add another entry to your scrapbook.

Now, Nikki’s interest has been peaked, and I’m thrilled. She’s planning to take the AncestryDNA test to learn more about her deceased father’s family history, potentially connecting with unknown relatives and strengthening existing relationships. Since her father and I separated when she was an infant and eventually divorced, she and her brother had very little interaction with his side of the family. Her curiosity is heightened by the fact that foster parents raised her father, and although he knew his sister who was with another family, neither of them knew their birth parents; she’ll undoubtedly be looking for a needle in a haystack.

Thankfully, her quest to learn about her grandparents and great-grands on the maternal side of her family won’t be as challenging since I’ve played detective with our family history for years and even wrote a book about it.

As luck would have it, my cousin Velda, bless her heart, created a small but remarkable photo album a few years back showcasing our paternal lineage. This treasure trove is brimming with family snapshots – featuring my father, her father, their siblings, some spouses, and our grandparents. A brief description of the subjects thoughtfully accompanies each image. Coincidentally, some cousins on my mother’s side compiled a similar photo collection after our 2018 family reunion. These two volumes form an impressive set destined to be cherished heirlooms for generations.

Because a family tree is a wild world of roots and branches, there’s always another story to uncover, another mystery to solve (and another blog post to write).

Discovering our forebearers’ hardships and challenges can make us more empathetic and appreciative of our culture and life experiences. Look at Alex Haley. His discovery of his ancestries and the subsequent writing and publication of Roots profoundly impacted his life. In addition to bringing him tremendous success and recognition, Roots became a #1 bestseller, a widely-watched TV miniseries, and won Haley a Pulitzer Prize. His success also sparked widespread interest in genealogy and African American family history, inspiring many others, including myself, to explore our roots. Tracing lines of descent through generations using oral interviews, historical records, genetic analysis, and other sources serves as a valuable family heirloom and historical record. Alex Haley’s Roots inspired esteemed author Henry Louis Gates Jr. to learn his own ancestry. He later developed a PBS series, “Finding Your Roots.”

Nikki may never write a best seller like Haley, but I will encourage her pursuit. And one more thing about genealogy. I must tell you that my cousin, Tanya, has more enthusiasm for family history than a squirrel has for nuts. In 2014, she went on a wild ride through our family tree, mapping out every twig and leaf like she was trying to win the genealogy lottery. She didn’t just scribble our family tree on the back of a napkin. No, sirree, she went full-on digital diva and left a jaw-dropping Genealogy Report on the MyHeritage website, created by another cousin, Dwayne. Dwayne, bless his tech-savvy heart, had long ago set up the online family hub that facilitated Tanya’s project. Not only is the genealogy bug highly contagious, but in our case, it’s a family affair.

As I see it, life’s just one big scrapbook, and most of us try to make our pages uplifting and worth reading!

As Marcus Garvey said, “A people without the knowledge of their past history, origin, and culture is like a tree without roots.”

 

 

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From Family Drama to Smooth Jazz

by on ·Family, Inheritance, The Way I See It

Well, raise my window and call me Pearl (Remember the lady in the window from the sitcom 227). It seems my last blog post stirred up more drama than an episode of The Sopranos. Who knew that a hypothetical could cause anxiety attacks in so many people? I should’ve posted a warning: “Caution: Reading this may cause out-of-control suspicion, guilt, or rage.”

When talking about wills, nothing brings out long-lost relatives faster than the prospect of an inheritance. Shortly after that post was published last week, my brother and I were suddenly the most popular people on the family tree for some strange reason. We were inundated with calls, texts, and emails from folks we hadn’t exchanged a word with since typewriters gave way to computers. It was like a family reunion gone digital. Everyone presumed theirs was the hypothetical family and wanted to know how to get a piece of the family pie—or at least to know if there was a pie to be sliced.

The buzz around the blog post didn’t just stir up family and friends; it also boosted my readership. Thank you very much.

Who knew that sharing a little information about wills and heirs would be like dropping a genealogical grenade? Regarding inheritance, everyone wants to be in the will—and in the know! But life’s a fleeting carnival, and we’re all temporary ticket holders. One day, we’re chasing windmills, and the next, we’re expressing final wishes. To help me keep things in perspective, I often remind myself of a statement credited to Mahatma Gandhi: “The world has enough for everyone’s needs, but not everyone’s greed.” That’s deep, isn’t it? So, while some of you ponder that, I’m flipping the script on this subject and moving on to something more mellow.

I’ve read that music, soothing melodies, and gentle rhythms have a magical effect on our bodies. It whispers to our hearts, “Slow down, take it easy.” And our hearts listen! Scientific studies have revealed that our stress level drops when we listen to calming tunes. The heart rate gently decreases, and blood pressure lowers, too.

I find few things are more relaxing than being in the comfort of my home, lounging in the recliner, keeping the lights low, and listening to smooth jazz (SJ). Don’t get me wrong. I love some rhythm and blues. After all, we Boomers grew up with R&B, but smooth jazz is soothing. That sensual and relaxing music that seems to touch the soul is the next best thing to meditation.

One contemporary SJ melody has become my favorite. It absolutely blows my mind. No matter what I’m doing when that tune comes on, I drop everything, stop and listen. It’s titled Hypnotized. I’m not talking about the 1967 sultry version performed by Linda Jones. That’s cool, too, and it remains one of my favorite oldies. However, this year’s contemporary, smooth jazz version, Hypnotized — The TNR Collective, released April 12, is off the charts! Turn up the volume on your speakers, sit back in your chair, click the arrow below, listen, and enjoy.

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Musing on the Quirks of Inheritance

by on ·Family, Lifestyle and Culture, The Way I See It

A few months ago, I was deeply engrossed in a series of captivating documentaries. One standout was Silver Dollar Road, which chronicles the Reels family’s courageous fight to protect their beloved waterfront property in North Carolina from encroaching developers. This film dives deep into the complex issue of heirs’ property, making it a must-watch for anyone interested in land rights and family legacies.

Watching documentaries can be quite an educational journey. I was so intrigued by what I learned that I was inclined to consult some legal experts.

Picture this hypothetical: a man passes away without leaving a will. That’s a surefire recipe for family drama! His widow inherits a life estate—a type of joint ownership allowing her to live on the property for her lifetime. When she dies intestate (without making a will), the property passes to the heirs; then, it’s game on! It might take days, weeks, or even years, but that’s when things start getting messy.

I learned something long before I heard of the documentaries: Every responsible adult should have a will. This legal document is crucial to estate planning, ensuring your wishes are honored after your death. A will isn’t just for the wealthy or elderly; it’s essential for anyone wanting to protect their assets and loved ones.

It was only when my mother was on her deathbed, suffering from terminal cancer, that I was able to convince her to draw up a will. Since she couldn’t travel, I summoned the lawyer to her bedside. Twelve days after she signed it, she passed away.

Continuing with the hypothetical, suppose descendants jointly own family land. The heirs have the right to use the property, but they lack a clear or marketable title due to unresolved estate issues. Unfortunately, this type of heirs’ property is more prevalent among Black and Indigenous communities.

Now, let’s talk about profits from inherited property. Navigating this tricky situation feels like doing aerobic yoga. It’s challenging and uncertain, yet undeniably intriguing. All heirs have equal rights to use and profit from it. So, any income the property generates—be it rent or something more substantial—needs to be divided based on each heir’s ownership share. In other words, if a property makes money, each heir deserves their slice of the pie.

Just as greed is a bottomless pit, nothing stirs up drama like unequal asset distribution. That’s just how the cookie crumbles in inherited real estate. But hey, I’m no lawyer—just a blogger who has done the research and is sharing my two cents!

I’ve learned that the absence of a will becomes more complicated as generations pass. Each successive generation typically adds more heirs to the land inheritance. See what I mean when I say things get messy? Descendants and heirs add more complexity to an already complicated situation, and the dispensation of heirs’ property often sparks family feuds.

What’s love got to do with it? When it comes to divvying up grandma’s china or granddad’s pocket watch collection, even the most lovey-dovey families can turn into a pack of squabbling wolves faster than you can say, “There is no last will and testament.” And let’s be real, even if nobody’s throwing punches over Great-Aunt Edna’s church hats, you can bet your bottom dollar there’s some serious side-eye action and venomous phone calls happening behind the scenes.

You know, through my family’s grapevine, I discovered something intriguing about my grandmother’s passing over 35 years ago. Let me whisper it to you: There was some bickering over some of her possessions. (Shhh.) It’s funny how some things never really change, isn’t it?

If I learned nothing else from watching documentaries like Silver Dollar Road and Gaining Ground: The Fight for Black Land, it’s that after the owner or executor passes, communication is critical to reducing the possibility of family conflict, and inheritance sure has a way of bringing out the worst in folks.

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Dr. King’s Birthday: Commemorating and Remembering

by on ·Activism, Family, Race Matters

The observance of Dr. King’s birthday stirs a lot of memories. It reminds me of the tragic way his life was cut short when he was assassinated 56 years ago, four months after his 39th birthday. On the other hand, like numerous others, I felt a sense of pride when Dr. King’s birthday became a  federal holiday in 1986. But what I think about most on Dr. King’s Day is the March on Washington.

I was a naïve junior high school student on summer break when the March on Washington occurried. Before that, I was aware of the civil rights crusade, although, to my knowledge, no one in my family was active in the movement. And since we were living in Washington, DC, the place some of my Carolina relatives referred to as “up North,” I felt distanced from — but was not oblivious to — the demonstrations and violence against demonstrators in the Dixie states.

I acquired my early education about the civil rights movement from the TV, and by perusing newspapers and other publications my dad brought home. Our family only had one old black-and-white television during my childhood, and my parents controlled the viewing. Each evening, after my dad arrived home from work and the family finished eating dinner, dad would turn on the nightly news. My siblings and I had no choice but to watch the news with him – boring as we thought it was – or find something else to occupy our time until we could reclaim the TV. Then, we would watch some of our favorite programs:  Leave It to Beaver, Ozzie and Harriet, Father Knows Best, I Love Lucy, and My Three Sons. I only remember three black programs airing back then:  Beulah, Amos and Andy, and The Nat King Cole Show. As the civil rights and black pride movement progressed, numerous black people, the NAACP, and others alleged that Beulah (a black maid) and Amos and Andy promoted stereotyping. Those shows were canceled but remained in syndication for years.

Dad subscribed to The Washington Daily News and frequently brought home editions of other papers, including The Capital Spotlight, The Washington Afro-American, and Ebony and Jet magazines. I will never forget how horrified I was the first time I opened Jet and saw a photo of Emmett Till’s disfigured body after he was murdered in Drew, Mississippi, and dumped in the Tallahatchie River.

On August 28, 1963, when my Aunt Sarah, a schoolteacher in New York, arrived in DC with some of her coworkers from the Big Apple to participate in the March on Washington, I no longer considered the civil rights movement to be just another sad news story. Suddenly, it was a big deal. I actually knew someone who was going to participate in the march. My aunt would be among the numerous people joining the largest gathering for civil rights of its time.

Aunt Sarah and her friends tried to persuade my mother and me to go to the march with them, but mother declined for both of us. We had watched too many newscasts showing civil rights demonstrations where adults and even school-aged children were violently attacked, blasted with high-powered fire hoses, and wrongfully jailed. And I knew from overhearing the conversations of some of our neighbors who hung out on the front stoop of the apartment building where we lived that they believed hostile white crowds were planning to attack marchers on the National Mall with the same maliciousness used against protesters in southern states. I also remember being as surprised as many adults that the anticipated city-wide clashing between non-violent marchers and anti-protesters in the streets of DC did not occur.

I’ve always felt proud knowing my Aunt Sarah was one of the estimated 250,000 people who participated in the March on Washington, the largest gathering for civil rights during that time. In hindsight, I regret that I did not march with her.

I once read the following quote. I don’t remember where I read it, but it has stayed with me. “Everything will come in its own time at exactly the right time for you.”  And so it did. I missed the opportunity to stand with my aunt amid the crowd, to be there – in person – to hear Dr. King give his iconic speech. But since then, I’ve participated in several protests, rallies, and marches for worthy causes, including the 50th Anniversary of the March on Washington in August 2013.

So, every year, on Dr. Martin Luther King Day, as I remember Dr. King’s tremendous contribution to civil rights, I also think of my late Aunt Sarah (who died on Thanksgiving Day in 2011). How fortunate was she to attend the March on Washington and hear The Dreamer speak? She created a small niche in American history and a significant one in our family history because she was right there in the crowd. Black and proud.

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