Memorial Day: Honoring The Ancestors of a Different Battle

“I would fight for my liberty so long as my strength lasted, and if the time came for me to go, the Lord would let them take me.”

Harriet Tubman

 

            My maternal grandfather, Joseph (Joe) Everett Parker, Sr., honored our history and this holiday in a different way.  On Memorial Day during the 1960s, the children of the family accompanied him on an ancestral voyage.  We went to the burial grounds of his parents and other relatives, some who were born slaves or in the reconstruction era. Here he honored their service. Because they had fought for racial freedom, persevering and sacrificing in the most horrid of conditions. I call them ‘old soldiers’ too, experienced on the battlefield of life.

            The grave sites were located way back off a rural road, some 15 miles or so from our home in Waverly Virginia.  In preparation for the trip my grandfather loaded up his tools to attend to the publicly neglected graves. At that time, black people could not be buried in our town’s cemetery. So most of the graves were located out in the "country" on traditional church grounds or old family sites. 

            As rather adventurous children who loved treats, we were excited about these outings with my grandfather for a couple of reasons. This was another chance to be away from home while enjoying the outside. And as part of this ritual my grandfather stopped at the local store and bought the makings for a good sandwich; bread, baloney, mayonnaise, and grape Nehi sodas—our favorite ‘poor folks’ snack.          

            Back then the significance of this cemetery ritual was lost on our young minds.  We watched my grandfather clear the weeds and wild growth from the place where his folks lay.  Delicately, he touched the mounds of dirt with his hoe or pitchfork, clearing the brush as he went about his task.  This was a sacred place. After the work was done, my grandfather bent his head.  He cried.  He prayed.  He paid homage to the souls of our kindred spirits.  In spite of his exhibits of strength and occasional “hell raising”, my grandfather was at times a very sentimental and emotional man. I value this understanding about my grandfather.

            Joe Parker’s sense of history and roots were firm and unknowingly he passed it down through the generations in a special way. I remember, this is an important part of our legacy. And I write about these unsung and enduring heroes whose acts of bravery in the enemy’s camp for humanity have made my progress so. They won!

 

Excerpted from my upcoming book, TOOLS TO CULTIVATE THE PROMISED LAND: Working Wisdom from My Grandparent’s Garden, October 2013

 

 

With my grandfather in 1982