This blog is an exploration of a family history. It won’t be just a family tree with a few random pictures, though. In these pages is a uniquely American story (at least from a genetic point of view – without American history as it has been, with all the good and the bad, there would be no “us” in any way, shape or form) that needs to be told, if only for those who are a living part of it.
Back in the 1800s, I had an ancestor named Asher Aray. He was a man of mixed race who owned property in Michigan, and who always kept a wagon in his stable for the express purpose of conveying slaves to Canada as part of the Underground Railroad. From this family tale came a long line heroes and villains, but more importantly a group of people who struggled and suffered in the hopes that their children would have better lives than they did.
To that end, my grandmother took her little family from the ancestral hometown in Michigan to a new town in Washington state, in the hopes that her children would grow up without the difficulties involved in being of mixed race; being light-skinned, she hoped they could pass for white, or at least native American (we are also part Mohawk). She hid the past from her children, and in so doing denied them the rich heritage that was theirs, and that might have helped instill in them a sense of pride in who they were. Instead, they were told very little, save that they should not talk about who they were, and were given a strong and abiding sense of self-loathing that still haunts many of them (I have one aunt who lately has been telling people she’s Italian, one of the few races we’re not, and another who made up a category of half-truth called “Black-Dutch.” When her kids were told the black part was actually African, one of them actually said “eeeww!”). My grandmother was so resolute in this, she instructed me when I was getting married that I shouldn’t tell my husband’s family about our background. I just shook my head, told her he had known from the start of our relationship, and that if he were the kind of person to be bothered by that I wouldn’t be with him anyway.
I see in my life a duty to honor those who made my life possible, by living the best life that I can and by sharing their story, not just for me but for the children I might someday have, and for those others in my family who are seeking answers about the past (sadly, relatively few – some lessons were learned too well).
From here
to here:
it’s been a long and winding road. I do hope you’ll travel it with me a while.
Julie,
I am a descendant of James Aray. James is Asher Aray’s son. I live in Michigan where several descendants of Asher are living.
Please contact me.
Looking forward to hearing from you.
Karmen
Julie.
I, too, am a decendent of Asher Aray. My Great- great grandfather was Eglon Aray, 9/11/1844-12/3/1876 and one of Asher’s sons. He and his wife Alice, from Grand Rapids, had two daughters. Their daughter Evangeline was my great grandmother who my Mother and Aunt knew very well as she lived with them as they grew up. So while I never knew her the lucky thing is she saved all kinds of things, so I have pictures of ancestors I don’t even know about, along with family bible and other things which have been passed on to me.
Evangeline ended up in Detroit and had two sons, one of whom was my grandfather, Lloyd A. Loomis who became a prominent African American attorney in Detroit, but who also died very young. I have two brothers and 8 first cousins though and we have all had children so the legacy of Aray lives.
I see Karmen Brown wrote on you blog and she and I have been talking and digging for our roots together for a while. Would love to hear from you.
Linda Williams Bowie