My Story:
America's Hidden Truth
America's Hidden Truth
It has been said that the United States is a creole nation but nobody wants to admit it.
Well, the United States is also in dire need of revitalization, a shared vision and civility and claiming our true identity is a fine place to start.
I am not a "Superman" or some spectacular role model. I have certainly had my own challenges and shortcomings. But my story, to an extraordinary degree, reflects America's collective story. It is a patchwork quilt of the proclaimed and the unsaid, the recorded, the orally passed down, the ridiculed, and that which was concealed under threat of death. And it is that truth which arose against all odds and despite all human attempts to destroy it.
My mother's history is complex but easily understood. Her mother was Catholic, descended from French and German immigrants, who arrived probably early to mid 19th century, to upstate New York. Her biological father was Jewish, but we did not know him, as he and my grandmother did not marry due to religious differences. My grandmother married a Presbyterian with a taste for the fruit of the vine, and had eight more children. Both my grandmother and my mother are sustained by their strong Catholic faith. My parents met at the beach at Chesapeake Bay, where my mom thought my Dad was a French or Italian Catholic when she first saw him.
My father's history, centered around Hamlet, NC, is just plain complex. Though this is not official recorded history, by all indications (too many to recount here) my Great Great Great Grandfather was an enslaved man who was murdered and thrown in the Pee Dee River in reaction to his relationship with the overseer's wife. Their offspring, my Great Great Grandmother Mollie, was placed with an abolitionist family. The father of this family enlisted in the Confederacy shortly after the Emancipation Proclamation as a nurse, and served both sides until his death from illness at Gettysburg. After his death, Mollie, age four, was farmed out to an abusive family of whom, apparently, nothing remains. In 1873, when Mollie was fourteen, James Whitman Farmer, the brother in law of one of Mollie's adopted sisters married her to rescue her. They had 16 children, born between 1875 and 1905. Mollie was well known, loved and respected in her community as a root doctor and midwife as was my Great Grandmother Ettie, her fifth child. Ettie had ten children, including my Grandfather, Octavious.
My Grandfather did not like his name, and always went by Tabe or OT. He even put his initials on his gravestone. However, an incident shortly after his death indicated that he wanted to acknowledge his identity. the evening before my graduation from Warren Wilson College, I was hanging out in another dorm with some friends while they finished packing. My friend John gave me a marble, a translucent blue shooter with green continents painted on it. Later, as I walked through the woods to my own dorm, I recalled how my Grandfather Octavious used to give the grandchildren marbles he found in the garden that my Dad and his brothers lost as children. I heard a voice that said, "The Jews are your people. For now, go with them. But always remember that you come from all peoples." As a result of this incident, I nicknamed my Grandfather's spirit Overtime. It suits him well, considering his sense of humor. His grave is near Christina Ann's.
Jim Crow segregation was challenging for my family. Among my Great Grandmother's siblings, the deaths of two of her brothers leave many unanswered questions. In particular, James and Mollie's firstborn, Johnny Leroy died, reportedly of TB, around the time a fire consumed their farm in 1910. His wife died five months later, "of a broken heart." His inlaws had opposed their marriage because they did not consider him to be of "satisfactory status." Another of James and Mollie's children supposedly died in the great influenza epidemic of 1918-1920. However, he died in 1923. I don't know for sure what really occurred but four-plus years is a really long case of the flu. Between the two of them, they left nine orphans under age ten.
My paternal Grandparents had to elope to Marlboro County SC because my Grandmother's family said my Grandfather was "a Black man." Years later, I met someone whose grandparents were also married in Bennetsville in 1929 in a "shotgun wedding." He told me the Justice of the Peace there was nicknamed "Marryin' Sam" and had a reputation for marrying anyone for the right price. I also discovered that my Grandmother's stepmother had the same family name and was from the same county as the overseer whose wife had the relationship with my three greats Grandfather.
Certain family stories, the early history of strong ethical conduct, and naming patterns indicate that some in the family were trying to keep the hidden history alive. Later, out of fear, some embraced a staunchly assimilationist approach. Growing up amidst this conflict had its challenges on many levels. Furthermore, I knew something was going on but did not know what it was. My concealed ancestors were calling to me from beyond the grave but I could not figure out where their voice was coming from.
As a teenager, seeking answers, I delved into my mother's hidden Jewish heritage. I learned a great deal from this culture, and grateful for their love and acceptance. There were certainly a lot worse places I could have ended up as a youth. I still have great respect for the Jewish community. I left largely out of respect for them, once I found out that my entrance had been predicated on misinformation regarding the true cause of the experiences and questioning spirit that led me there. I also had come to understand much about the dynamics of assimilation under oppression and realized that since Israel was so likely to imitate the USA it was imperative that we strengthen our foundation of ideals of freedom and justice. I moved to Israel, backed myself into a political corner over a Yemenite Rabbi who was advocating for Sephardic/Yemenite rights (His followers ended up in another Western country on political asylum), and came back home and back to Catholicism. Six months before I returned, my sister told me about seeing photos of my Great Grandmother Ettie at a family reunion and that she appeared to be of mixed race heritage.
I was born to discover. My mother experienced a glimpse of another realm as I entered this world quickly and unexpectedly. Her near-death experience strengthened her faith. Ironically, I was born on the anniversary of the Louisiana Purchase. France, bankrupt from Napoleon's unsuccessful attempt to quell the Haitian Revolution, sold vast territory to the United States. The resulting disputes over whether new states should be admitted as slave or free states propelled our nation toward Civil War, the ending of legal enslavement and ultimately our emergence as a global power. It is sad that Haiti is often maligned and misunderstood, when their revolution, the only successful revolution of an enslaved population and the second republic in the Western Hemisphere, contributed so much to the development of the United States.
My parents both served in the military. My Dad is a combat veteran of the Vietnam War. He was a Army pilot in the Mekong Delta. With such great sacrifices on the part of our soldiers both past and present, we owe it to them to rebuild our spiritual, social, moral, cultural and economic foundations at home.
For many reasons, obvious and concealed, rational and mystical, I have had an interest in issues of justice and social reform since early childhood, at least since second grade. I know I had a questioning sense and an interest in the past even earlier. Helping my little friend Kenya in first grade with her schoolwork influenced my decision to go into teaching. My own educational experience in North Carolina's public schools was quite positive. I enjoyed the AP English and History opportunities and the Art and Music programs. I have many favorite teachers: My history teachers in High School, Mrs. Peppers and Mr. Hierl, Mrs Lowery who made us write in a journal in class and I still have mine in which I wrote about Mikhail Gorbachev before he rose to power in the former Soviet Union, Mrs. Reynolds in fifth grade who had so many fun projects and picked me to help with the school mural on bussing, Ms. Wilson who expressed some legitimate concerns for my healthy social/emotional development in sixth grade, and also made a Mardi Gras cake for the class. I got the baby in my piece! My parents were otherwise occupied at the time and dismissed her concerns, but I always remembered that she tried. So, teachers, talk to your students. They are listening!
As Education changed following No child Left Behind, the culture war and the economic collapse in the United States, the cirucmstances leading up to my resignation from teaching full time in the public schools were multiple, complicated, and surreal. I believe firmly that when one door closes, many more will open. The culture war in North Carolina can be brutal, but that is because there is still a fighting spirit of freedom and justice here. I am fond of saying that much that is good in United States history started in Greensboro-the turning point of the Revolutionary War, the Underground Railroad, the Civil Rights movement. North Carolina has a history different than other Southern states and still has a lot of potential.
As a young teenager in 1984, I had an intuition that only the Soviet Union could be changed from within, that our institutions were so endemically flawed that our reform must come from a "grassroots movement of a converted public." Of course conversion usually refers to religion. Religion and spirituality are certainly fundamental to my story. However, the nine principles are secular, to be applied on our civic and social and cultural life where we can convert to honesty and respect.
Michelle Renee Lee
Well, the United States is also in dire need of revitalization, a shared vision and civility and claiming our true identity is a fine place to start.
I am not a "Superman" or some spectacular role model. I have certainly had my own challenges and shortcomings. But my story, to an extraordinary degree, reflects America's collective story. It is a patchwork quilt of the proclaimed and the unsaid, the recorded, the orally passed down, the ridiculed, and that which was concealed under threat of death. And it is that truth which arose against all odds and despite all human attempts to destroy it.
My mother's history is complex but easily understood. Her mother was Catholic, descended from French and German immigrants, who arrived probably early to mid 19th century, to upstate New York. Her biological father was Jewish, but we did not know him, as he and my grandmother did not marry due to religious differences. My grandmother married a Presbyterian with a taste for the fruit of the vine, and had eight more children. Both my grandmother and my mother are sustained by their strong Catholic faith. My parents met at the beach at Chesapeake Bay, where my mom thought my Dad was a French or Italian Catholic when she first saw him.
My father's history, centered around Hamlet, NC, is just plain complex. Though this is not official recorded history, by all indications (too many to recount here) my Great Great Great Grandfather was an enslaved man who was murdered and thrown in the Pee Dee River in reaction to his relationship with the overseer's wife. Their offspring, my Great Great Grandmother Mollie, was placed with an abolitionist family. The father of this family enlisted in the Confederacy shortly after the Emancipation Proclamation as a nurse, and served both sides until his death from illness at Gettysburg. After his death, Mollie, age four, was farmed out to an abusive family of whom, apparently, nothing remains. In 1873, when Mollie was fourteen, James Whitman Farmer, the brother in law of one of Mollie's adopted sisters married her to rescue her. They had 16 children, born between 1875 and 1905. Mollie was well known, loved and respected in her community as a root doctor and midwife as was my Great Grandmother Ettie, her fifth child. Ettie had ten children, including my Grandfather, Octavious.
My Grandfather did not like his name, and always went by Tabe or OT. He even put his initials on his gravestone. However, an incident shortly after his death indicated that he wanted to acknowledge his identity. the evening before my graduation from Warren Wilson College, I was hanging out in another dorm with some friends while they finished packing. My friend John gave me a marble, a translucent blue shooter with green continents painted on it. Later, as I walked through the woods to my own dorm, I recalled how my Grandfather Octavious used to give the grandchildren marbles he found in the garden that my Dad and his brothers lost as children. I heard a voice that said, "The Jews are your people. For now, go with them. But always remember that you come from all peoples." As a result of this incident, I nicknamed my Grandfather's spirit Overtime. It suits him well, considering his sense of humor. His grave is near Christina Ann's.
Jim Crow segregation was challenging for my family. Among my Great Grandmother's siblings, the deaths of two of her brothers leave many unanswered questions. In particular, James and Mollie's firstborn, Johnny Leroy died, reportedly of TB, around the time a fire consumed their farm in 1910. His wife died five months later, "of a broken heart." His inlaws had opposed their marriage because they did not consider him to be of "satisfactory status." Another of James and Mollie's children supposedly died in the great influenza epidemic of 1918-1920. However, he died in 1923. I don't know for sure what really occurred but four-plus years is a really long case of the flu. Between the two of them, they left nine orphans under age ten.
My paternal Grandparents had to elope to Marlboro County SC because my Grandmother's family said my Grandfather was "a Black man." Years later, I met someone whose grandparents were also married in Bennetsville in 1929 in a "shotgun wedding." He told me the Justice of the Peace there was nicknamed "Marryin' Sam" and had a reputation for marrying anyone for the right price. I also discovered that my Grandmother's stepmother had the same family name and was from the same county as the overseer whose wife had the relationship with my three greats Grandfather.
Certain family stories, the early history of strong ethical conduct, and naming patterns indicate that some in the family were trying to keep the hidden history alive. Later, out of fear, some embraced a staunchly assimilationist approach. Growing up amidst this conflict had its challenges on many levels. Furthermore, I knew something was going on but did not know what it was. My concealed ancestors were calling to me from beyond the grave but I could not figure out where their voice was coming from.
As a teenager, seeking answers, I delved into my mother's hidden Jewish heritage. I learned a great deal from this culture, and grateful for their love and acceptance. There were certainly a lot worse places I could have ended up as a youth. I still have great respect for the Jewish community. I left largely out of respect for them, once I found out that my entrance had been predicated on misinformation regarding the true cause of the experiences and questioning spirit that led me there. I also had come to understand much about the dynamics of assimilation under oppression and realized that since Israel was so likely to imitate the USA it was imperative that we strengthen our foundation of ideals of freedom and justice. I moved to Israel, backed myself into a political corner over a Yemenite Rabbi who was advocating for Sephardic/Yemenite rights (His followers ended up in another Western country on political asylum), and came back home and back to Catholicism. Six months before I returned, my sister told me about seeing photos of my Great Grandmother Ettie at a family reunion and that she appeared to be of mixed race heritage.
I was born to discover. My mother experienced a glimpse of another realm as I entered this world quickly and unexpectedly. Her near-death experience strengthened her faith. Ironically, I was born on the anniversary of the Louisiana Purchase. France, bankrupt from Napoleon's unsuccessful attempt to quell the Haitian Revolution, sold vast territory to the United States. The resulting disputes over whether new states should be admitted as slave or free states propelled our nation toward Civil War, the ending of legal enslavement and ultimately our emergence as a global power. It is sad that Haiti is often maligned and misunderstood, when their revolution, the only successful revolution of an enslaved population and the second republic in the Western Hemisphere, contributed so much to the development of the United States.
My parents both served in the military. My Dad is a combat veteran of the Vietnam War. He was a Army pilot in the Mekong Delta. With such great sacrifices on the part of our soldiers both past and present, we owe it to them to rebuild our spiritual, social, moral, cultural and economic foundations at home.
For many reasons, obvious and concealed, rational and mystical, I have had an interest in issues of justice and social reform since early childhood, at least since second grade. I know I had a questioning sense and an interest in the past even earlier. Helping my little friend Kenya in first grade with her schoolwork influenced my decision to go into teaching. My own educational experience in North Carolina's public schools was quite positive. I enjoyed the AP English and History opportunities and the Art and Music programs. I have many favorite teachers: My history teachers in High School, Mrs. Peppers and Mr. Hierl, Mrs Lowery who made us write in a journal in class and I still have mine in which I wrote about Mikhail Gorbachev before he rose to power in the former Soviet Union, Mrs. Reynolds in fifth grade who had so many fun projects and picked me to help with the school mural on bussing, Ms. Wilson who expressed some legitimate concerns for my healthy social/emotional development in sixth grade, and also made a Mardi Gras cake for the class. I got the baby in my piece! My parents were otherwise occupied at the time and dismissed her concerns, but I always remembered that she tried. So, teachers, talk to your students. They are listening!
As Education changed following No child Left Behind, the culture war and the economic collapse in the United States, the cirucmstances leading up to my resignation from teaching full time in the public schools were multiple, complicated, and surreal. I believe firmly that when one door closes, many more will open. The culture war in North Carolina can be brutal, but that is because there is still a fighting spirit of freedom and justice here. I am fond of saying that much that is good in United States history started in Greensboro-the turning point of the Revolutionary War, the Underground Railroad, the Civil Rights movement. North Carolina has a history different than other Southern states and still has a lot of potential.
As a young teenager in 1984, I had an intuition that only the Soviet Union could be changed from within, that our institutions were so endemically flawed that our reform must come from a "grassroots movement of a converted public." Of course conversion usually refers to religion. Religion and spirituality are certainly fundamental to my story. However, the nine principles are secular, to be applied on our civic and social and cultural life where we can convert to honesty and respect.
Michelle Renee Lee