I don’t say much about myself on Social Media. Mostly because what I post is not about me. Today I am going to make an exception.
I am a direct descendent of Jefferson Davis. My middle name is Davis as is my Aunt’s. My parents considered giving me Davis as my first name.
My grandfather raised the Confederate flag on a very tall flagpole each and every day atop a high hill on his 80 acres of beautiful Maryland land.
My father was a racist. He didn’t like blacks or Jews. I remember racist conversations at the dinner table. It made no sense to me and I didn’t like it.
There was a black brother and sister whom I attended school with. I loved Karen and Chris. They were kind, gentle, caring, talented, and intelligent human beings.
Some time around the age 11 or 12 I knew I wasn’t a racist. Around that same time I became the “black sheep” of my family. Today I can say that with pride.
I have 5 adult children. 2 are Caucasian and 3 are biracial. 2 are adopted. When my biracial son was born he helped change my father’s views on racism and grew to love his grandson dearly until his last breath.
I’ve lived many places including the high mountains of St. Catherine Jamaica. I didn’t see another white person for 6 months until my husband and I traveled to Ocho Rios where the cruise ships come in. I remember saying as the white people disembarked from a ship: “Oh my God. White people are SO white!” For a fleeting moment I imagined what a white human being looks like to a black human being.
I made this post because I wanted to say that I shed no tears when the statue of Jefferson Davis came tumbling down. I’m pretty sure that I’ve made Jefferson Davis take a spin in his grave more times than I could count.