FAMILY MATTERS: MY ORIGIN STORY
According to our basic genealogy research, on my mother's side of the family, I am at the very least 6th-generation American, descended from kidnapped people who built this country. On my dad's side, I am the 4th generation, as the great-granddaughter of Hungarian immigrants who came through Ellis Island.
I am grateful I had the chance to spend time with both my grandfathers before they passed away, and that I get to hear my dad and my paternal Cousin Megan's stories about their grandmother, who helped raise my Dad. She spoke Hungarian and cooked authentic Hungarian dishes and desserts. We are lucky that Cousin Megan has Grandma Chontos' Hungarian recipes, which she shared with my mom so she could make an authentic Hungarian dish to school, to share that part of our culture with friends. Cousin Megan also makes sure to keep all the family photographs.
I'm amazed that my great-grandfather was a carpenter who built huge houses all by himself, without the modern equipment we have today. My dad is very skilled with all types of home repairs. I guess that's a trait he shares with his grandfather.
I am a proud descendant of both sides of my family and enjoy spending time with all my relatives. I am especially grateful to the enslaved people in my family who lived, loved, worked hard, and overcame tremendous adversity to raise families in South Carolina and Georgia, before the Great Migration.
I also enjoyed going to my first cousin Will's wedding in South Carolina recently, and having a chance to catch up and spend time with relatives I hadn't seen in years because they live on the East Coast.
My 78-year-old maternal Grandma has been living with us since my Papa passed away 8 years ago. We have fun together, watching old movies and talking about our favorite books. I love it when she tells stories about her childhood and upbringing in South Carolina as the third of 9 children.
Grandma loves to cook and share recipes with us. In her family, the women are all great cooks, but my twin brother, Dayton, is the best cook out of the three of us. He pays close attention to what Mom and Grandma are doing in the kitchen, he asks questions, and is serious about learning how to cook traditional Black-American foods to, honor our southern roots.
At the time of my grandfather's death from cancer on October 11, 2017, Grandma and Papa had been together for 55 years, ever since they went to prom together at Lincoln High School. Lincoln was still racially segregated when they graduated in 1965, 11 years after the United States Supreme Court had ruled that school segregation was illegal. It makes me sad to know that although she was the Valedictorian of her graduating class, she was only given a few hundred dollars from the County, while the white Valedictorian at the all-white school received $5,000.
These are the times when I realize Grandma is older than Ruby Bridges, meaning that the history of segregation my grandparents experienced actually isn't that long ago. Because of my grandparents' determination, my mom was a
First-Generation college student. My brothers and I are part of the Second Generation. I do not take my opportunities for granted because I have living history right in front of me that reminds me of the cost.
