By: Jennifer Richardson Holt
It all started in the drop-off line of my daughter’s school. We were getting in some last-minute studying. Science was the topic at hand, and we were going over the parts and functions of the brain. We were discussing the two sides that control different aspects of a person’s thinking such as the right side being more artistic and creative while the left was more logical. My daughter made sure I knew that her right side was her favorite side because it was more her preferred interests. I agreed with her as I feel exactly the same. We both fervently turned up our noses at the left side and anything that could be associated with mathematics as our feelings about math are very similar. We both loathe it though she is very good at it, and I had to work hard to be decent. It was then that she felt the need to add that she did, however, really like history. I will not deny that my heart leapt as she said this because yet again, this is something we share.
I had had my suspicions in the past that she may in fact have these interests because of a few other conversations that she and I have had. As a matter of fact, during this same wait before school, on this same day as a matter of fact, the discussions of the names of the moon for each month were again being visited. It is a conversation we frequently have in our family as she was born under the Strawberry moon and while she admits she would have preferred the Pink or the Flower she is satisfied enough with this fact because she can use it to tease me as I was born under the, (insert disappointed sigh here) Worm Moon. But I digress. This discussion led to the indigenous peoples of our area that often were the sources of these moon names. It was then that I told her that both her grandmother and I had some, a small amount but it’s there, of indigenous American blood in our DNA and that I would love to check her DNA to see if it had passed down to her. Once I had assured her that DNA testing only required saliva and not the severing of an artery, she was keen on the idea. She liked the thought of being a part of something that was here long before the nation began.
We have a great deal of native cultural remnants in my area. I have talked before about the names of streets and counties and towns all around me. The bulk of them are names you dread having to tell a customer service representative on the phone. As a matter of fact, I very rarely even say the name of my town to them. I just go ahead and spell it and save us all the time and struggle. While the names aren’t particularly easy for people who aren’t familiar with regularly pronouncing them, I am glad to have them a part of my local culture. There were great civilizations in my area. Even the capital of the Creek nation was once located a short drive from my home. And as I said, while my part in this heritage is small, I am proud of it.
My daughter was even excited when I showed her a bit of history in the area even though it didn’t go as far back as the native peoples. Not far from my home in a town on a river, there is what I believe are the last surviving remains of a confederate armory. Now it is only very tall stone walls with no roof or floors to all its levels, but it still is a sizeable monolith that once fueled weapons to a fallen nation. Occasionally, my daughter forgets I am the one that showed it to her and when we go over the very high bridge she will look down and point out those ruins to me and tell me how they are from the Civil War, and I act very impressed and intrigued by the information she is imparting. While tales from the war between the states probably isn’t exactly the topics that really intrigue her in history, she values it simply because it’s from long ago (to her anyway) and close enough that she can actually see it for herself. I’ll happily take her interest.
One day I’ll have to take her to Old Cahawba which was the first capital of our state, and she can see its ruins. Maybe I can take her to Moundville in our state to see the mounds left by the prehistoric Mississippian culture. Hopefully, we will some day have the opportunity to travel to the United Kingdom and we can both revel at the remnants of a castle that her 21st Great Grandfather built and in which the Lords and Ladies that were her ancestors lived for centuries. And on that day, I think both our love for the stories of the past will reach new heights. But for now, we enjoy a historical festival at a place just down the road with the long, odd name that means the gathering place of the turtles.
Prose and Possibilities 