I haven’t shared it with her yet. I’m saving it for her birthday. This really has me wanting to have my DNA checked just as a matter of curiosity- personally I think it’d be cool as hell to learn I had an African ancestor but, who knows.
I hate to admit it but after years of lampooning “the legions of the walking dead” I’m becoming a genealogy geek myself. My interest wanes substantially when it gets to before the era of people who were preserved in family history (that goes back to 1800), but even so it’s just odd the discoveries. (My mother’s family came here from Switzerland? I didn’t think anybody came here from Switzerland! Especially not in the 17th century.) Learning just how damned long they’ve stayed in the south and Alabama (on most sides my ancestors have lived south of Virginia since well before 1700) is odd, or seeing just how far back the insanity in the family goes on my grandmother’s side (half of her siblings were to be found in census of the Georgia and Alabama state mental hospitals in 1930- the other half weren’t grown) and how her paranoid father lied to the census taker. (Accounts of my grandmother’s father’s paranoia were innumerable- I don’t know if he was schizophrenic but he was definitely delusional- his census information is never even close to the same info twice save for his name and those of his children- he changes the ordinances of births, the ages, the birthplace of his parents [never the same twice- in reality his father was born in Georgia and his mother in Alabama but he lists them as everything from Virginia to Ireland to Wisconsin in the census], his occupation (he was a medical doctor and graduate of a medical college in Mobile- his wife was also a college graduate- but identified himself as a farmer in one census, a minister in another and his wife as illiterate in two of them), etc… I’m also amazed at how many of my ancestors owned slaves- apparently the dirt poor ancestors that I knew were a postbellum transition, and it’s amazing that my twin great-aunts didn’t talk about the slaves when they probably remembered some of them quite well.
One of the stories my great-aunts (the identical twins born in 1889 who reared my father when his parents split up) told was of a woman they called “Aunt Pig”, a light skinned old black woman they knew when they were little. They always spoke of her in the context of “Aunt Pig made the best sausage you ever tasted” so I assumed that’s how she got her name, but one of them casually pointed out “No, we called her Aunt Pig cause her mama cut off her nose when she was a girl so she looked like a pig. What was her real name sister? Petunia… no I wanna say Penelope… Porcia… naw, that was her oldest girl’s name… oh it was her name too?” while I’m [internally] going “WHO THE HELL CARES WHAT HER REAL NAME WAS! WHY’D HER MAMA CUT HER NOSE OFF!” Eventually one of them volunteered “Oh, her mama cut her nose off with a butcher knife when she warn’t but maybe eight, nine years old. She got along fine without it, her husband couldna loved her more, that was Uncle Brigg I know his name… he used to tell people her daddy was a hog and that’s why her nose was like that and she’d snort like a hog and they’d just laugh and laugh… sister what was Uncle Brigg’s sister named, the one married the preacher who got run over by the mailman? Naw, that was his other sister, she’s the one had the boy who got kilt in France in the war… this was the old colored woman who had the store and yadda yadda yadda” while again I’m WHY’D HER MAMA CUT HER NOSE OFF! “Was it an accident?”
Kitty: No.
Carrie: She went to do it.
silence
Why? Was she crazy?
Kitty: I didn’t know her
Carrie: Wouldn’t be good of us to judge her.
Did she ever say why her mama cut her nose off?
Kitty: Naw. Not’s I recall.
Carrie: Granma Cotton told us why.
Kitty: Aye, but Aunt Pig never did.
silence
WWWWWWWWWWHHHHHHHHYYYYYYY!
And the payoff of the very long go-round of the very-short story was this (told in my voice rather than K&Cs): When Pig was a girl she was light skinned and very pretty and a slave. Her mother cut off her nose so that she wouldn’t be attractive because “white mens didn’t always used to do colored women nice in them days”. She was mutilated as an act of love, then as an old woman became ‘Aunt Pig who makes sausage and is missing a nose’, which is disturbing on so many levels, but I’m now forced to wonder could Aunt Pig have been a slave in my family? Or hell, could she perhaps have been my family, because the light skin came from somewhere, and her mother obviously had reason to fear white men. But, c’est la vie- the nice thing about being told by aunts cooking you salmon about a slave whose mother cut off her nose as an act of love is that it was a wonderful image to counterbalance the moonlight and magnolias “slaves were member of the family” bullshit still taught in school in the 1970s- one mental image of a noseless old woman is worth a thousand minutes of footage of happy darkies singing in the field.
I have no idea how I got off on this thing. Apologies galore for rambling if not babbling.