My Mother's Unanswered Questions. Part 2

(Read Part 1 first)

What was the ethnic influence in our family lineage? 

For as long as my mother could remember, she heard reports among family members that there was some ethnic element in the distant lineage of her mother. Her own mother, however, nay sayed the possibility, and as often as the subject came up attempted to squash any dialogue about it.

I recall a trip that Grandma Ring and I took together when I was barely 18, and she was a few years younger than I am today. As the two of us rolled down the open highway between Valdosta, Georgia and Crestview, Florida we discussed any number of things; including “the gorilla in the living room.”

As I sat in the driver’s seat of my powder blue ‘64 Ford Fairlane, I glanced over at my dear granny, and asked,

“Grandma, what can you tell me about our Native American heritage?”

To which she, true to form, responded,

“I don’t know nothing about it. We ain’t got no Indian blood in our family tree. You can ‘take that to the bank!’”

And yet, among the four girls and three boys in her family, existed a variation of complexion from olive to dark. Two of her sisters were very dark, and were possessed of rather wiry, black hair. I recall Lena and Lizzy well. They might easily have checked themselves in on the reservation, and no one would have wondered a wit about it.

Interestingly enough, before my mother went on to her reward, and while she and I were entertaining the subject, she said,

“You know, when I was a teenager people used to ask me, ‘Erma, are you part black?’”

I had never heard her allude to this particular scenario before that day.

Of course, I have seen the old photos, and there is a demonstrative skin tone, not only with her mother, and aunts, but also with her; which you simply don’t find with the typical Caucasian.

I have submitted myself to DNA testing; only to discover, (at least according to the kit) that I am 70 percent English, Scottish and Irish and 30 percent everything else; excluding the possibility of any Native American or African-American bloodlines.

However, at least in terms of ethnicity, DNA testing has proven to be somewhat fallible. That being said, a week before my mother passed I administered a DNA test to her; which originated with another company. There she sat upright in the nursing facility bed; spitting into a vial for the space of eight or ten minutes. I can still hear her insistent plea,

“Is that enough?”

To which I would respond,

“Not quite, mama. The kit costs $200, so it’s either now or never with that plastic container and your saliva. You gotta fill it up to the line.”

As I write this story, my mother recently took her celestial journey, and her DNA kit has not yet been analyzed. But since her strain of ethnicity was twice that of my own, given she was one generation before me, I am hoping for an enlightening outcome.

Another unanswered question, but one which has the potential for being answered.

I have always felt an especial affinity for Native American peoples. I once visited some Creek Indian mounds in the northwest sector of Georgia. I can tell you it felt like “Old Home Week.” And interestingly enough, it has been reported that my mother’s mother’s people are descended from the Creek Nation.

Another occasion when my maternal parent’s knowledge of the truth will precede my own; since at this moment she is steadily looking into the face of her dear Savior. And, no doubt, He has already provided her the answer of which she has so long wondered.

Nonetheless, none of what she may have gleaned in the presence of our Lord has any potential bearing on my own knowledge; since she “ain’t a telling.” 

My mother’s second question continues to be my first.

By William McDonald, PhD. Excerpt from (Mc)Donald's Daily Diary. Vol. 28. Copyright pending

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