Deadlines are my friend. Deadlines are my friend. Deadlines are my friend.
2 o’clock. That is my latest deadline.
Twenty minutes to sift through my busy brain and find some compelling story or intriguing information that is worthy of a reader’s time.
I got nothing.
Or maybe I am just procrastinating a bit of discomfort.
Oh, dear…I am.
Very late last year I made a commitment–to myself–to share my family’s history of enslaving with Coming To The Table’s Shared Legacies project. And I did share a first draft, a typical family historian attempt to craft story from facts and conjecture. However, with feedback I realized that the Shared Legacies were to be a first person point-of-view, a narrative about how my ancestors’ enslaving linked to my own life experience, or, better yet, a narrative of how I discovered the descendants of the people my 4th great-grandparents enslaved.
Well, I don’t have any of the latter.
And I can’t write succinctly about why the Revolutionary Era Dodsons haunt me.
I have four more minutes…to convey to you, dear reader, that I have a shit-ton of White Folk Work to do. And I will make a commitment here, today, to peel away excuse after excuse, and sit with my discomfort.
I hope you will join me as I examine how liberty became a race-based right in my family.