It's Not Easy Being Green

When I was in school, it was the custom to pinch anyone not wearing green on St. Patrick's Day. It had nothing to do with being Irish. I attended a Black segregated public school. However, I would proudly tell my fellow classmates that I really was Irish. This was the oral legend of my family.

Now with the aid of science and DNA testing, I have proof of my Irish heritage. According to ancestry.com, I am a whopping 19% Irish. I still don't know how, when or where, but I am definitely descended from several persons from Ireland. And my Irish ancestors reside behind my brick wall.

I know most of my Black ancestors back to 1825. I only know one White ancestral line up to that date. That is my Featherston line. There may be Irish roots there. The Featherstons did come from England so there may be Irish ties somewhere in that family tree.

What is unique about my Featherston ties is that the interracial union of my great grandparents occurred right after slavery. Those other earlier couplings were, more than likely, forced and they definitely were not documented.

Irish immigrants didn't have it easy when they first arrived here in America. People looked down on  them, discriminated against them, called them "black" among other epitaphs. Some were even held as slaves. Of course, their road to equality cannot compare to Black American's tedious journey.

I'm not sure how I'm supposed to feel about my Irish heritage. I'm no longer that young naive child that gladly pronounced that she was Irish. I don't resent it either. My feelings, like Black genealogy, is complicated.

Brick Walls

I have been researching for nearly 20 years now. I have made great discoveries but I'm still stuck behind the proverbial brick wall. My brick wall is visual.

I know all my great grandparents' names. I even know most of my great-grandparents' names. And there it stops. Except for five names, I know little or nothing of my great great great grandparents. And therein lies my problem.

I was so excited when I got my DNA results back from Ancestry.com. I received all these wonderful matches. I even have two circles with shared ancestors. The problem was that those shared ancestors were already known to me. Yes, it did confirm that Charles Featherston was my great grandfather and that was nice. However, I was hoping for something more enlightening. And that won't come until I can figure out more about my great great great grandparents.

Unfortunately, the DNA results has also confirmed another assumption I had made. I am alone in my family when it comes to this pursuit. My closest relatives to have their DNA tested, except for my uncle, are distant 4th cousins. That means we share --you got it-- an unknown great great great grandparent.

So I will continue to scour the records as I try to chip away at that wall and I will continue to pray that more of my cousins, closer cousins, catch this genealogy bug. It could happen.

Genealogy Detectives

I attended a wonderful genealogy conference in Chicago this past weekend. Sponsored by the Afro-American Genealogical and Historical Society of Chicago (AAGHSC), the featured speakers were Melvin Collier and Michael N. Henderson. Both men have written books about their breakthroughs in discovering ancestors. I have already purchased "Mississippi to Africa," by Collier and plan on buying Henderson's "Got Proof" soon.

These men have inspired me not to give up on my search no matter how difficult it may seem. They did it against incredible odds. It was all a matter of following the clues, little bread crumbs left by the ancestors.

Sometimes I feel like my ancestors don't want to be found. I keep encountering burned down courthouses, lost records, constant surname changes and just seemingly complete anonymity. The elders that are left claim they have little to share. But I will persevere.