Rashaun J. Allen's Blog, page 6

2015 in review

The WordPress.com stats helper monkeys prepared a 2015 annual report for this blog.

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Here’s an excerpt:

A San Francisco cable car holds 60 people. This blog was viewed about 1,100 times in 2015. If it were a cable car, it would take about 18 trips to carry that many people.

Click here to see the complete report.

Real Art Protest – Reimagine

Reimagine a different world

Where black lives matter

Wars are foreign

Immigrants are welcomed

Self-knowledge is more popular than a selfie

White privilege is checked like ID

Beauty standards reflect

You, me, him and her

Dog whistle politics are fought against like terrorists

Minimum wage is a livable wage

Actors are politicians

Leaders actually take the stage

ESPN covers teachers like athletes

Paying for education is a crime

Jails are not pipelines

But life lines to help the incarcerated

Police are from the community

Where a village raises a child

To go to Marcus Garvey University

Reimagine a better life

One step at a time

Reimagine a better life

Young radical mind

Reimagine a better life

A new world within reach

Reimagine

You make this life a reality.

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Rashaun J. Allen (@rashaunjallen) is a MFA in Creative Writing and Literature candidate at SUNY Stony Brook, where he is working on Christine’s Dream – A Memoir of Love, Loss & Life. He is the author of  A Walk Through Brooklyn & In The Moment and has been featured in The South Hampton Review. Find more of his work at www.rashaunjallen.com

Layers Of Love – A Wonder Of The World

He doesn’t take the time to know you

Like the way you dress is a reflection of your mood

Draped in gray is a day hearing

“I love you” is more than words

Like your beauty is more than physical

Your vibration is magic

To be in sync

Is to hear your heart beat as a melody

Not even Beats By Dre can pick up the tune

He’d rather not pick up your call

Send emoji filled texts

Like just type what you want to tell me

But he doesn’t understand the context

To think like a woman

Act like a queen

Is more than daddy issues

Or being too emotional

Like a relationship is more than sex

He thought going down on you was really a big step

You needed him to step up

From a boy to a man

Less Netflix and chill

More empire building

Umpire like communication

So scandals are no more than a ladies’ night

You gave him chance after chance after chance

But this wasn’t a game of craps

Your hopes and dreams

Are worth more than a diamond ring

Leave ‘em

He doesn’t deserve

You

A wonder of the world.

—

Rashaun J. Allen (@rashaunjallen) is a MFA in Creative Writing and Literature candidate at SUNY Stony Brook, where he is working on Christine’s Dream – A Memoir of Love, Loss & Life. He is the author of  A Walk Through Brooklyn & In The Moment and has been featured in The South Hampton Review. Find more of his work at www.rashaunjallen.com

Framed In Excellence – an American Dream

What is the American Dream for a black family?

For many of us the Obamas’ are our American Dream – a house, marriage, children and a career with a path to retirement. But for most of us getting to that reality is as rare as a black family in the white house. Instead, we face constant trauma. Twice the unemployment; our brother – killed by another brother;  our sister – Sandra killed while in police custody and nine of our loved ones – Cynthia, Susie, Ethlel, Depayne, Clementa, Tywanza, Daniel, Sharonda and Myra –gunned down in a Charleston church. These and more reasons are why men, women and children came from far and wide to the Million Man March.

“Every time we have a movement like this nothing changes,” said a fraternity brother, I met as I headed to the National Park in Washington D.C. His comment struck a nerve. He couldn’t possibly expect forty acres and a mule. Maybe he wanted change to happen in a snap. Maybe he wanted a fair shot at the American Dream. But his comment pointed out the question I often ask myself, “Am I enough?”

I came to the Million Man March looking for inspiration. It was an honor to be in a space where being black, beautiful and brilliant was omnipotent. In the workforce and the classroom, I tend to be the only or the first or the last black guy. But here I was in the middle of a narrative, although not captured by mainstream media, if told by us would serve to enlighten.

 

***

 

Minister Louis Farrakhan was behind a glass wall. This 83-year-old man whose words had motivated a couple hundred thousand or more to gather, had to protect himself. It shocked me. But then again when he spoke out about black oppression – he shocked America.

“Don’t blame Jesus for your cowardice,” Minster Louis Farrakhan said, “have the Jews forgiven Hitler?”  His position contrasted the daughter of 70 year-old Ethel Lance who said, “I forgive you,” to the 21-year-old who murdered her mother. I don’t know if I would have had the ability to do that in under 48 hours of the murder. But this kind of forgiveness is what’s needed in the black community. We need to be able to disagree with each other yet work together in a collective advancement in support of black businesses.

“You are all seeds and unless planted in the right environment,” Minster Louis Farrakhan said, “we can’t grow to show – God’s gift bestowed in us at an excellent level.” When I was a student at George Gershwin Junior High School in East New York, surviving the walk to and from school was more important than any test given in class. Classmates were robbed; a friend was hit with a pipe; and another was jumped. Not until I became a student at SUNY Albany did I solely focus on academics. However, there was still much I didn’t learn at school.

“The first slave ship that came into the New World was called Jesus,” Minister Louis Farrakhan said. Jesus of Lubeck was a 700-ton ship purchased by King Henry VIII that was leant to the ships captain, Sir John Hawkins by Queen Elizabeth. The ship left England for Africa in October 1562. It arrived off the coast of Sierra Leone, captured and enslaved 300 – 500 Africans. The ship transported and sold most of them to what is now the Dominican Republic. This is an example of black history that often leads me to ask, “What else don’t I know?”

“Your name is a reminder you were once owned as a slave,” Minster Louis Farrakhan said, “changing our names was a first step to a complete and full freedom.”  Although, this may help assert a black identity, since many of us know little about our genealogy. I believe in uncovering 7generations of my family’s story is important to reclaiming myself. Maybe the discovery is what will lead to a larger change among my family not just myself.

“Lincoln didn’t aspire to free slaves,” Minster Louis Farrakhan said. I am well aware that Lincoln’s aspiration was to do as little or as much in regards to slavery that would keep the union whole. However, I did not know from reading the Lincoln Memorial his position was in plain view for all to see. This helps me understand that unless the victim of an injustice defends him or herself, no one else will do enough.

 

***

 

The Million Man March was an experience I won’t forget. I wonder if my experience was similar to those who heard Martin Luther King Jr. deliver his I Have A Dream speech. I felt hopeful. It was a breath of fresh air that made me believe going forward – we will breathe.

I left the march challenged to do more. Maybe that is standing up to an injustice when I encounter it. Maybe that is being comfortable with being uncomfortable – envisioning an American Dream for black families that extends as far as collective action will take us.

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Rashaun J. Allen (@rashaunjallen) is a MFA in Creative Writing and Literature candidate at SUNY Stony Brook, where he is working on Christine’s Dream – A Memoir of Love, Loss & Life. He is the author of  A Walk Through Brooklyn & In The Moment and has been featured in The South Hampton Review. Find more of his work at www.rashaunjallen.com

7 Generations – Kinship

“Certificates are the best source of information,” Shirley said as she chopped a green pepper. She is my cousin-in-law. More precisely, she is Errol’s wife, who is my third cousin once removed. The kinship may sound distant but we’re bonded in genealogy.

“What could a certificate reveal?” I said. I had been tracing family history since we all met in 2012 at the Trumpet Family Reunion. Between that and uncovering several family names, I figured what was left was to do DNA testing. That was the best route to overcome genealogy roadblocks. But, bruh, I was wrong.

“Check that crate over there,” Shirley pointed. It was filled with obituaries, pictures, family tree guides, birth and death certificates. I glanced at a death certificate and its information breathed life back into my genealogy. There were dates of birth, parent names and occupations. It hit me. I needed to get my hands on more certificates.

As Shirley placed the chopped peppers in a bowl to make a Mango Avocado Salad, Errol came downstairs.

“We have her family in that crate and mine in that one,” Errol said as he pulled up a chair.

“Ya’ll have tons of information,” I said.

“Here’s the paper,” Errol showed me our genealogy chart that showed our common ancestors, Jerrick Joseph Trumpet and Eleanor Boldington, my third great-grandparents, who are also his second great-grandparents.

“Have you kept up with family since the reunion?” Errol said.

“Not as much as I hoped,” I said. My third great-grandparents Jerrick and Eleanor had two children: William (Errol’s line) and Henry Trumpet. Henry had fifteen children including the oldest my Great-granddad Japheth Trumpet. Japheth, had six children including my Grandma Carmen Trumpet, who had five children including my mother, Christine Hunnicutt.

“You’re kidding me,” Errol said, “there were over 100 people.”

“Good thing we have the Facebook group,” I said.

The door bell rung. Today, we were hosting a Genealogy Potluck, a gathering among family filled with food and memories. An alternative for family in New York who weren’t able to make it to Saint Vincent – the ancestral ground of my Trumpet family line – to reunite. It was Shirley’s family.

“I don’t know why I need to know family history when I got you,” Al, Shirley’s brother, said to her as we all sat in the patio.

“What the hell does once removed mean anyway,” Al said.

“First cousins share a grandparent. Second cousins share a great-grandparent and third cousins share a great-great-grandparent,” I said, “Removed refers to generations separating cousins themselves.”

“So ya’ll cousins.”

A Genealogy Relationship Chart would of made the explanation simple.

***

A few weeks later, I ordered two death certificates: Willie Lawson Jr and Carmen Trumpet. Of my grandparents, I knew them the least. As I waited for the certificates to arrive, I hoped they would lead to stories behind the facts. Maybe this would prompt my family to share more of what they knew.

I knew a last name carried a history. My paternal Granddad Willie Lawson Jr.’s last name wasn’t passed on to my father, Andre Allen, who is known as Jamel. But Granddad Willie’s death certificate confirmed he is his father’s namesake. In that moment, I figured I could have been Rashaun J. Lawson. Yet, I wanted to know more about the Lawson last name not being passed on.

“I didn’t feel like it,” Grandma Arlene said when I asked. Maybe this was a way for Grandma Arlene to break tradition. Her move showed she had the right to give her child the name she wanted.  Maybe bestowing a last name was an honor not earned.

“He often asked me to change my name,” Jamel said the day I asked him. Maybe their bond wasn’t strong enough. Or maybe it wasn’t my father’s priority. But the conversation showed there was a kinship.

“Giving a child your name hid the fact you weren’t married,” I can’t recall who said it. But Grandma Arlene and Granddad Willie did not marry. He was married to a Christine Sparrow.

“He wasn’t my father,” my aunt said, one day over the phone, “but when he did, he did for all of us.” This surprised me. More often than not I heard horror stories how money divided families. Who knows maybe there was a horror story like that in mine.

Granddad Willie was born on October 23, 1919 in Florida and he had a twelfth grade education. This was a great feet considering he was in school during the Great Depression. A time when children gave up learning to help support their family. Many families ate not knowing if their last meal was their final meal. Maybe he and his family benefited from the Florida land boom in the early 1920s. At some point he moved to Brooklyn where he became a steel worker for the Brooklyn Steel Company.

I am only aware of three children Granddad Willie had; my father and his sister; and Granddad Willie’s death certificate informant, his daughter, who is also an aunt I have not met. His parents are: Willie Lawson Sr. and Pinkie Mae O’neal. The death certificate uncovered and confirmed Great-grandma Pinkie.

Granddad Willie died on April 12th, 1992, at 72 years old in a hospital. I can’t help but wonder why I didn’t meet him. He only lived three miles away from my home in Breukelen projects. Maybe his relationship was strained with the Allens.

The Lawson family line is tricky to uncover for out of all four grandparents that line is the only one I have no human contact. If only searching black folks with the last name Lawson from Brooklyn was a legit lead.

***

Grandma Carmen was born November 11th, 1929, the last but one child of Japheth Trumpet and Irene DePeiza’s four children (Japheth had a total of six children). She was born and raised in Brooklyn, New York under a Caribbean family structure. This meant Great-granddad Japheth was the primary bread winner and protector, while Great-grandma Irene managed the home and raised the children.

Grandma Carmen’s death certificate did not reveal much information I did not know – it actually had typos from “BePeiza,” to “Carlos” and “Trunpet.” But it confirmed Grandma Carmen was married like Granddad Charles’ family registry did. I learned she was 20 years old when she married Granddad Charles on March 4th 1950. By that time she had my oldest aunt from a previous relationship.

Grandma Carmen’s education level is unknown to me. It was not revealed in her death certificate. Nor have I raised a conversation up about it. Her occupation was listed as a housewife. But that didn’t uncover how she raised her five children alongside her husband. Perhaps her parental style reflected her upbringing.

“She taught me how to crochet and sow,” one Aunt said. This may have been a family tradition passed down from Great-grandma Irene.

“She was mean,” another Aunt said, “She would lose it if I didn’t finish my food.” Maybe Grandma Carmen set a precedence that food couldn’t be wasted. I can only imagine stretching one income for a household of seven.

“She could sing,” my aunt’s daughter said, “But she had a bad cough.” She explained that a disc with Grandma Carmen’s recorded song was among the tens of discs in Granddad Charles’ apartment. I never found or heard it. But her heavy coughs and smoking got the best of her. The death certificate revealed Grandma Carmen died at 32 years old inside the Breukelen projects’ apartment I grew up in. It was on September 22nd, 1962, eighteen days after my Mom was born.

I imagine Grandma Carmen’s untimely death affected the family for generations to come. It forced Granddad Charles to survive for his children.  It may have influenced Mom to baby me. Perhaps it played a major part in her grandchildren myself included to grow up without strong Caribbean ties. If it only takes a death to be disconnected from a generation. Maybe there needs to be twice, no three times as many memories to stay bonded.

7 Generations – is a blog series that will attempt to dive seven generations into my family tree to consider the impact of our decisions on the next seven generations.

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Rashaun J. Allen (@rashaunjallen) is the author of A Walk Through Brooklyn & In The Moment. He has been featured in several publications such as: The Chronicle, The Troy Record, Albany Student Press & UA Magazine. Find his books at www.Royalbluepublishing.com and follow his personal blog at www.rashaunjallen.com.

7 Generations – Paper Trail

I was looking for a photo of my Great-grandma – Gracie Johnson. It was a black and white photo that showed her wearing a full-length coat with a matching hat. I wanted a second look to get a glimpse of her life – a black woman born about 1892 in North Carolina, whose marriage in Washington D.C. on November 24th, 1910 led to the birth of two children. Wishful thinking. As if one picture could reveal what made her tick?

Great-grandma Gracie had married Great-granddad Eugene Hunnicutt – the one who walked out on his family. I found a 1920 United States Federal Census record that showed Eugene being a “roomer” and “single” at the age of thirty-one years old in Washington D.C. But they were together about 17 years before having children – Grandaunt Lucille Hunnicutt and then Granddad, Charles Hunnicutt. Maybe this picture was part of a collection that would reveal a day in the life in those years. Maybe it could help unravel what disrupted the foundation of the home.

I could not find Great-Grandma Gracie’s picture or any picture in that era from Granddad’s closet full of pictures. Instead, going through her son, my maternal Granddad’s photo albums, I found a Family Registry. It was faded from white to reddish and edges of the paper were missing. The names and places are written in cursive yet tough to decipher. But it must have been inherited by Granddad from his mother since under Family Registry the Parents’ names were her own – my 2x Great-grandparents.

The Family Registry revealed Armstrong Johnson and his wife Mary Galley were both born in Wilmington, North Carolina about 1860 and January 1865. It also showed their marriage on May 15th, 1886 in Wilmington. The Family Registry provided enough information to find their Marriage License, which marriage date matched both sources, on Ancestry.com. However, the Marriage License did not provide me with any occupation for Armstrong Johnson. Nor would an occupation for Mary Galley be available in those times. But what grabbed my attention was a M.H. Thomas on behalf of my 2x Great-grandparents applied for the license.

2x Great-granddad Armstrong was twenty-six years old and identified as colored and the son of Sidney Johnson – who was dead at the time – and Nancey Davis – who was living at Wilmington, North Carolina. Mary Galley was twenty-one years old and identified as colored. Her parents Josh Galley and Mary Pearce lived in Wilmington as well. This was the first time I came across my 3x Great-Grandparents – Sidney, Nancey, Josh and Mary, whose daughter carried her namesake.

Finding six ancestors from the same area was rare. How “thriving” was a place like Wilmington North Carolina for black folks during the last half century in the 1800s?

Although President Abraham Lincoln ended slavery with the signing of the Emancipation Proclamation in 1863 all slaves didn’t know until June 19th, 1865. Not all black folks were enslaved and the effects of slavery still haunted the lives of many. With that said, I imagine Wilmington was a safe – safe used loosely – place to progress. That impression may have disappeared when the Wilmington Race Riot of 1898 happened. Riots that usurped the local government, and killed 25 blacks – although 100 more may have been killed and their bodies dumped in the river. This may have been the motivation for the Johnsons – my 2x Great-grandparents to move up north to Washington D.C. The fact that their daughter, Great-grandma Gracie and her son, Granddad Charles kept a Family Registry allowed me a window into our family tree.

7 Generations – is a blog series that will attempt to dive seven generations into my family tree to consider the impact of our decisions on the next seven generations.

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Rashaun J. Allen (@rashaunjallen) is the author of A Walk Through Brooklyn & In The Moment. He has been featured in several publications such as: The Chronicle, The Troy Record, Albany Student Press & UA Magazine. Find his books at www.Royalbluepublishing.com and follow his personal blog at www.rashaunjallen.com.

Layers of Love – Like Us

We clicked like two fingers used to snap

Your personality was a melody that made opposites attract

The rhythm of your voice was in tuned with my heart

You never spoke to the man

But wooed the King in me from the start

A small town girl dealing with an inner city brother

You respected my hustle

Us dating, disrespected your mother

But, what does that have to do with love?

We’re in this relationship for the long run

When I’m down, you carry the paton to finish the race

But ever since I walked through the door

Your face expression said so much more

Then, “I’m glad you came.”

Is our relationship so unusual

That family expectations is enough to ruin what we have

What if we broke up

Would her love be worth hating us?

Love don’t love like that nor love like this

Don’t let this love like us become a fairly tale that shall never exist.

7 Generations – What Lies Within a Marriage Certificate

7 Generations – is a blogs series that will attempt to dive seven generations into my family tree to consider the impact of our decisions on the next seven generations.

“Your battery is low,” popped up on my laptop’s screen a moment after I discovered the marriage certificate information of my Great-Grandparents – Japheth Trumpet and Irene DePeiza on Ancestry.com. I raced through the living room and kitchen looking for the power cord as I thought this could be the breakthrough I needed. My information about Great-Grandma Irene – my maternal Grandma’s Mom – was limited to a couple phrases, “Born in Barbados,” was one, “Married Japheth Trumpet,” was another and finally, “Mother is Alice Francis.” As I plugged in the power cord to my laptop, I realized in order to see what the marriage certificate revealed I had to order it.

The wait left me time to imagine what could have drove Great-Grandma Irene to the United States. Maybe she saw life was more than her island. Maybe she was following the footsteps of her siblings. Maybe life in Barbados left her no choice.

However, my wait turned from imagining her reality to questions, I wondered if I could answer. Who was her father? Did she live her aspirations? How did she envision the future of her loved ones? Yet, Great-Grandma Irene made a life for herself in the United States. She had several children with her husband Japheth. Their daughter – Grandma Carmen – named her first child Irene. This is an indication that Grandma Carmen and Great-Grandma Irene had a close relationship with each other.

A week or two later the marriage certificate arrived from the City of New York Municipal Archives. Looking at the, State of New York Certificate and Record of Marriage of Japheth Trumpet and Irene DePeiza, the first piece of information that stood out was both assert it is there 1st marriage. This is in direct conflict of the information that was passed on to me. My Great-Grandfather Japheth had another wife and family back in Saint Vincent. I even met many of their children – countless cousins – at a family reunion. Did my Great-Grandfather Japheth intentionally exclude his other marriage? Did my Great-Grandma Irene know about her husband’s other wife and children? Maybe my Great-Grandfather Japheth was separated from his other wife.

Great-Grandma Irene’s sister – my great aunt – Gladys DePeiza, witnessed my Great-Grandparents marriage on October 7th, 1925. They married in Brooklyn, New York, not too far from their home on Amboy Street. They were seven years a part. Great-Grandfather Japheth was twenty-nine years old. While Great-Grandma Irene was thirty-six years old – which revealed, she was born about 1889 in Barbados.

They both identified as Colored. Back then when the census in the 1920’s asked individuals to identify color or race the options included “B” as black for full-blooded Negros, while the term “Mu” as mulatto included all other people who had some proportion of Negro blood i.e. the one-drop rule. I imagine this distinction contributed to black folks seeing each other as different. While “W” as white was inclusive to all.

Great-Grandfather Japheth identified as a Mechanic. But there was no occupation space for Great-Grandma Irene.  Instead it asked, “Maiden Name If a Widow,” as if to say who or what is a woman without a husband.

The marriage certificate answered a burning question as it revealed Great-Grandma Irene’s father – my 2x Great-Grandfather – Charles DePeiza. I now had the names of both my Great-Grandma’s parents. However with a new ancestor discovered, more questions go unanswered.

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Rashaun J. Allen (@rashaunjallen) is the author of A Walk Through Brooklyn & In The Moment. He has been featured in several publications such as: The Chronicle, The Troy Record, Albany Student Press & UA Magazine. Find his books at www.Royalbluepublishing.com and follow his personal blog at www.rashaunjallen.com.

Real Art Protest – Good Ass System

Somebody, somewhere is saying, “We got a good ass system.”

We could change all the laws and still get ‘em

We can box ‘em in so many wrongs; right won’t fit ‘em

Walk up in the church not even Jesus can save ‘em

Discrimination ain’t like our Granddaddies’ days

But I swear there’s a sign up that reads, “No Colored Allowed To Breathe.”

Stereotypes are more common than cursive

Books are contraband in jails like black bodies are purses

Highlight black lives matters to little fanfare

Somebody, somewhere is saying, “All lives matter you ass whole.”

As if, you could tell us how to feel

As if, working twice as hard is a deal

As if, being young, black, and conscious is a segway to claim reverse racism is real

We might just march for reparations call it the black tax

Back charge the USA until black lives have 40 acres and a mule placed on black cards

It’s possible if Germany could pay Holocaust victims

Good Lord, that’s a whole lot of money

Good Lord, this situation ain’t worth waiting

Good Lord, I can’t comprehend this frustration

Seeing aunts, uncles, brothers and sisters as if they’re the walking dead

Instead of like Scientists, Engineers, and survivors who thrived

If only a negro spiritual could free us at last

But truth be told between the world and me

This isn’t a game of cards when we shout

“I declare war,” on this hypocrisy.

—

Rashaun J. Allen (@rashaunjallen) is the author of A Walk Through Brooklyn & In The Moment. He has been featured in several publications such as: The Chronicle, The Troy Record, Albany Student Press & UA Magazine. Find his books at www.Royalbluepublishing.com and follow his personal blog at www.rashaunjallen.com.

7 Generations – The Bonds that Bind

I’ve been curious about my family tree for sometime. I don’t know when it started. It could have been when my aunt Grace told a story about re-connecting with our family in Saint Vincent. Maybe it was the silence that swept my maternal Granddad’s face when I asked him about his father. Maybe it was the feeling that stayed with me when Mom revealed she didn’t know her mother. I know my curiosity only grew the day I found out my paternal Granddad’s last name was different than my own. But it all balls down to attempting to answer, “Who am I?”

I used to get embarrassed when someone asked, “Where are your parents from?” I couldn’t say somewhere in the southern part of the United States. Nor could I say a Caribbean island whose water is so clear you could see fish swimming in it. I didn’ have a genealogy road map back to Africa. “My parents are from Brooklyn,” I said since it was all I knew. It’s nothing wrong with being from Brooklyn. It’s one of a kind if you ask me. It’s where cookouts turned into block parties that transformed into cherished memories. Yet, I wanted to know what happened before Brooklyn.

I learned pieces of history from reading books and what was taught at my schools. But none of that could answer where were my ancestors in any point in time; inferring their story versus knowing their struggle is like night and day. What if my family linked to slaves, colonizers, royalty or all three? I can only imagine how that kind of knowledge could awaken me.

I’ve been unraveling bits of my family tree on and off since 2012. The journey has led me to meet family via Facebook; find ancestors through ancestry.com; seek out pictures and documents; and ask questions as aunts, cousins, and my Grandma tell oral stories. The highlight of this journey was meeting the Trumpet family – the family my aunt Grace told me about as a child.

However, this journey is far from over. My family tree has deep roots. But digging to discover doesn’t inherently equal buried treasure. Maybe it means buried troubles. I want to identify my 2nd great grandparents. But my great-grandfather – the one who my maternal Granddad refused to utter his name – walked out on his wife, daughter and son. Bringing him up to get to his parents revives generational pain.

Mom didn’t know her mother who was born and raised in Brooklyn. But I was told what Mom was told as a kid – her Mom – my maternal Grandma’s roots lead to the Caribbean. My great-grandfather, my maternal Grandma’s father, was from Saint Vincent, which connects to the Trumpet family line. While my great-grandmother, my maternal Grandma’s Mom, was from Barbados. This root still needs to be uncovered.

The day I asked my paternal Grandma, “How come my father doesn’t have his father’s last name? How my Grandma would respond was a crap shot. I wasn’t trying to be out of line. But I didn’t know if my Grandma would cuss me out – She’s feisty. I just wanted to know. She paused a minute and peeled her head back as she said, “I felt like it.” It was at that moment I knew to find out about my patrilineal line would be challenging.

What if genealogy provided a thread to mend broken kinship among black folks? I don’t believe it could stop black people from killing black people. But I imagine it could mend a layer of self-hate.

There’s an Iroquois proverb that states, “In every deliberation, we must consider the impact of our decisions on the next seven generations.” I would like to look seven generations back. Maybe it will provide some knowledge for the seven generations yet to come.

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Rashaun J. Allen (@rashaunjallen) is the author of A Walk Through Brooklyn & In The Moment. He has been featured in several publications such as: The Chronicle, The Troy Record, Albany Student Press & UA Magazine. Find his books at www.Royalbluepublishing.com and follow his personal blog at www.rashaunjallen.com.

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