Coming to grips with your past

 

 

“The glories of your past stem from overcoming struggles and demonstrating resilience, which makes you powerful and a threat to others.” Dr. BLR

 

In the darkest crevices of your mind lie the secrets you don’t want to share. You know, the things you don’t want to reveal to anyone, but you really want to tell someone. How could you not? Some of the shit you did was so salacious that you couldn’t take it to your grave. Well, this is what many families go through, and some of the information is embarrassing, but it is needed to answer questions that often go unanswered.

I recently had a conversation with my niece, and she wanted to learn more about our family in light of the recent passing of her father, my twin brother. We had previously submitted our DNA samples to Ancestry DNA and were trying to figure out whether there were any secrets. I had no idea what would be uncovered, so I waited for my results. 

It didn’t take long for the regular family members to pop up, you know, siblings, my niece, the cousins you are aware of, and, more importantly, the percentage of different ethnic backgrounds most African Americans have in their bloodline. While I didn’t know much about my father’s family, this new technology revealed a lot about my genetic background. I don’t want to go into much detail, but overall, I am 82% African, 17% European, and 1% Indigenous. I didn’t feel special because most descendants of enslaved Africans have a similar DNA footprint. However, I discovered I had a half-uncle on my mother’s side, a year younger than I was. Talk about scandalous. I reached out to him, and he explained his situation, which made sense. I promised I wouldn’t divulge the family secret, but it made me wonder how many more secrets were out there. 

I recently bought a book, from Amazon, “Dad, I want to hear your story: A Father’s Guided Journal to Share His Life and his love.” When I had my children, I always said that I would tell them as much about me as possible. As you get older, you tend to forget things unless you're asked specific questions. My daughter is always asking questions; my son, not so much. This book is a great format to talk about your past. I bring this up because I didn’t ask my mother enough questions while she was alive. 

Interestingly enough, I had a conversation with one of my first cousins today about being honest with our kids. He said something that resonated with me. He stated, “I have always been open and honest with my babies. I don’t know how to be anybody else.” As my kids are still very young, I’ve made it a point to answer them honestly and directly, regardless of the questions asked. 

It is not a difficult task for me because, before I had my biological children, my students were my surrogate kids. Over the years, depending on the class, I’ve shared stories that no one in my family knew. Some were personal yet relevant to the topic being discussed in class. The interesting thing was that I wasn’t embarrassed or ashamed of anything I’d done in my life, because the good, the bad, and the ugly had made me the person I am today. If you were to remove one, my life course would have definitely changed. Moving forward, I have to be very careful about what I reveal about my background to my kids because I don’t want them throwing it back in my face and calling me a hypocrite. 

There are many days when I have a little quiet time, and I reminisce about my upbringing. I have no idea how I didn’t get caught doing some of the illegal shit I did. I can’t say it was all just being a juvenile, because some of it happened when I was 18 or older. Back then, I believed I was grown because I was making my own money and taking care of business. It may have been, but I must admit I was just a lucky m’fer. Deadazz!

There’s an old saying, and I don’t know who to credit, but it goes, “It’s not how you start that’s important, but how you finish!” This is the story of my life. In contrast, many people have seen my accomplishments in my professional and academic careers. I have many college and university degrees. I’m a graduate of the FBI National Academy, was assigned to the FBI Joint Terrorism Task Force, which investigated the tragic events of 9/11, and am now a tenured university professor at a private Jesuit University. But they have absolutely no idea how I made it out of the inner city of Newark, New Jersey, without ever being arrested, becoming addicted to drugs, or fathering children at a young age. I pat myself on the back for this difficult feat because I traveled down all those paths, but somewhere along the line, either someone opened my eyes or divine intervention saved my Black azz.

Regardless, I made it out, and I have a story to tell not only to my kids but also to my students, whom I hope will heed any warning I offer, because I know how difficult it is to survive in a world where most are concerned with their own well-being and couldn’t care less about others. However, I do care, so when I share my story, it is raw and truthful. I don’t mince words or worry about my foul language. I often tell my students that I curse because I don’t like my voice, which I think makes me sound like a nerd, but cursing gives me an inner swag. Or so I believe. 



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