For the last couple of weeks, it’s been enjoyable writing about the diversity in my own family, particularly that of my mother’s side, as my generation has both white and black skinned cousins and now second ones, too. I haven’t met everyone of the younger children but I hope that changes in the near future. Seeing their pictures on social media only gives me small glimpses into their lives.

As I thought about how to continue writing about my family, to share openly more insight into our lives, I remembered I had done a DNA test through one of the popular sites that offers this service. I remember getting my kit, returning a saliva sample and anxiously awaiting the results. When they finally arrived, I wasn’t completely surprised at the findings. Today, I went back to the site to confirm the stats of my test–I am 99.7% European (no surprise there), however, within that number I’m broken down to 44.2% French/German and 9.3% British/Irish. These numbers only represent maternal DNA. Looking at a map which shows my markers, my far away ancestors were from the North Rhine-Westphalia region. Birthplaces for my mother’s parents are off to the east towards Berlin and Poland, the general information our oral family history indicates.

I think it’s safe to assume that most people want to enjoy hearing about their ancestors. For me, this is most certainly true. Because I did not have the luxury of knowing my mother’s parents, I always had questions about who they were and what they were like. These are some of the only facts I have about them:

• My grandfather was orphaned at the age of 4 which would have been about 1888; he ran away from the orphanage at age 11. Nothing has been known until his courtship with grandma who was two years older than he and their marriage. Where did he run to and how did he survive?
• Grandma was the daughter of a schoolteacher. It was her job to clean the small classroom every day after the students went home. She spoke a higher level of German compared to grandpa’s “working man’s” German, something he envied of her
• They met at a dance and he proposed to her three times before she consented, telling him “what have I got to lose, no one else has come along asking me to marry”. We kids were told that although their marriage may NOT have begun rooted in romantic love, as years went by and their children came along, deep love and affection for one another was created
• Grandpa immigrated to America in 1910, followed by grandma and my Aunt Natalie in 1913 (she was three years old)
• They established their home on the east side of Saginaw, Michigan in a neighborhood among Germans, Poles, and Russians. In fact, my grandparents were fluent in those three languages and my grandfather became fluent in English as well. Grandma, being a homemaker, only developed a broken ability to converse in English. Therefore, she preferred the children (my mother included) to speak German in the home.
• My grandfather purchased his first automobile before he could legally drive
• He worked second shift for a rail company in Saginaw and did the family grocery shopping at a market each day on his way home from work.
• They raised 7 children, however, when grandma was pregnant with my Aunt Emma, she had a terrible accident with a pot of boiling water which scalded my Aunt Wanda, age 4 at the time. She did not survive her burns and is buried in the children’s section of a cemetery in Saginaw.
• Another very heartwarming fact is that due to my grandma’s broken English, my dad taught himself German while serving abroad with the US Navy. Upon returning home on leave one time, he greeted her in her native tongue, continued conversations in German and told me “it was like getting to know someone all over again with each subsequent visit” as they could finally converse. (To me, this is an example of pure love, when someone will invest time and effort to learn how to communicate with a loved one, especially as an “in-law)

Why do I enjoy sharing these tidbits about my family? The little I know has caused me the desire to know more, however, there is much I will never learn about their lives while in Germany and some of their experiences in America, other than the memories I have from my mother. It’s why I have been thrilled to reconnect with my Aunt Kate’s children, my cousins Willie and Barbara. The conversations we’ve had about their childhood, the struggles and missing pieces of their lives have been important to me.

Admittedly, I only gave thought as I grew up thinking about them being “accepted” into our predominantly white family, only later to find they missed out knowing their father’s family who still resided in the south, because of their disdain for the marriage. Visits to spend time with their grandparents and cousins in Uncle Bill’s family were always declined as he feared for their safety.

This morning, before sitting down to write, I listened to a black preacher talk about using the term “racial differences” among people. This man spoke what I’ve always believed since becoming a Christ follower–we are ONE human race and while I contend that to be true, I’ve also added in my own words–”we are like a box of crayons, we come in different colors”. However, this pastor–and forgive me–I didn’t write down his name–declares we don’t come in different colors, that when God created us male and female, we are ALL one color but due to the level of melanin in our pigmentation, we have a variety of skin tones.  I totally agree.

I’ve witnessed first hand the sorrow resulted in my family from Kate and Bill’s marriage. Of mom’s siblings, two of them were adamant to not socialize with them, and when Aunt Kate died either attended her funeral. When Willie and I reconnected, one of his first questions was to ask me where our Aunt Emma was living, who by that time, was in a memory care facility. He visited her faithfully every week, an aunt that had previously rejected his parents, him, and his sister.

She didn’t know who he was…but Willie didn’t let that stop him.

I like to think that love showed up in extraordinary ways in my mother’s family, the first when my dad learned German, his only additional language, and two, when Willie visited our aunt, knowing there had been rejection, many lost years, but in the words he joyfully declares to me often during conversation “We are family! I love you!” “You take care now, ya hear?”

I’ll end this weeks musings with a final thought…I like to believe that when I enter Heaven I will be reunited with loved ones who’ve I’ve known and those I did not. I’m not sure how our earthly relationships transfer to Heaven…but I also like to think I WILL finally get to meet my grandparents, my Aunt Natalie, my Aunt Wanda. And if I do–I won’t need the ability to converse in German because I’m pretty sure God has that all taken care of when he brings us all Home. Additionally? He isn’t concerned how our family took on different skin tones. After all, He’s the One Who created us and placed our loved ones in our lives.