| OPINION
| July 19, 2005
Conversation
Among Kin
Don’t let the past control
your future
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| The Shorthorn: Quyen Dong |
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I used to believe that my grandfather built
the house my dad grew up in. A modest house just two blocks from
the Catholic church where my mom and dad first met as teenagers.
It’s the kind of life you’d expect to be captured in
a Norman Rockwell painting. I thought that was the case, until my
sister showed me the deed for that old house.
Grandpa won it in a bet.
I don’t know why I thought my extended family was so pure.
They come from New Orleans, which isn’t known for its quiet
innocence. And it shouldn’t be that big of a deal that I’m
finding new stuff out about my family, but my friends are the total
opposite.
They are always knowledgeable about their parents. Without help,
they can recite what cities their great-grandparents were from,
what colleges their parents went to, etc. When I asked about that
type of stuff as a kid, my dad would tell me to talk to my mom,
and my mom would ask me why I wanted to know.
I found out tidbits about my grandparents. One of my grandfathers
worked for the Sewerage and Water board (I learned that about five
minutes before writing this), and the other worked as a short-order
cook.
One of my grandmothers supervised tailoring for a men’s store,
and the other was a housewife. I have an interesting lineage: black,
two types of Native Americans, French and Dominican. I’m supposedly
related to a famous voodoo priestess, too. There may be other stories
and ethnicities, but I probably won’t hear them.
My family’s silence could be blamed on the fact that my living
relatives are mostly crabby old people — and they are —
but it has a lot more to do with tainted memories.
They don’t seem to like talking about the past because, although
there were good things that happened, there were a lot of bad things,
too.
It wasn’t fun to be black in the early 1900s. One of my great-grandfathers
built a rather sizable home for his family, which was torn down
to build a housing project. He was distraught from it and was never
the same.
According to my mom, blacks generally had a fear of doing or making
anything big, because it always seemed like once it got the attention
of the wrong people, it was soon taken away from them.
Well, you know what? That’s bad and all, but it shouldn’t
matter, now.
It’s pathetic to think that I don’t know my family because
of decisions that bigoted white people made more than 60 years ago.
I know too many people who let the past control them. They become
quiet and ashamed, like it’s still happening today. Alcoholic
fathers, abusive ex’s and bullies hurt them, and they remain
in a twilight zone. I’ve had my share of woes, but I’ve
learned what it is to learn and have moved on.
People do a lot of bad things to others out of ignorance, fear or
greed. Letting that stupidity live on to affect decisions, infect
relationships and corrupt self-perceptions is sad.
Why let the bad things take control? Whether we are happy or not
is not up to other people. It’s up to us.
If someone cuts me off while I’m driving, I remember that
I’m not always a good driver and laugh. If I’m not treated
well by someone, I remember that I’m not always the nicest
person, especially when I’m busy, sleepy or hungry. If I don’t
get my way, I remember that life isn’t about that.
It’s everybody’s world, not just one person’s,
and no one can control how others see the world.
With all of the hurdles in life, it’s sad to think that people
get tripped up on things that don’t really matter. Moments
that are worth remembering are the ones that give a warm, floating
sensation, like a shared laugh with a loved one, talking so passionately
that all time gets lost.
Those good moments are the first to be ignored when bad memories
take control.
I’m not mad that I didn’t know the truth about my dad,
but when I think about how fun it would have been to hear it from
his mouth, it’s sad to know what I missed.
When bad things get in the way, it’s not just one person who
suffers. But one thing’s for certain, I’m not going
to let the bad parts stop me from sharing this story with my friends.
I can’t wait to hear them laugh.
— Richard-Michael Manuel is a communication senior and
design editor for The Shorthorn
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