Strength from Good Stock

  I'm sporting fake eyelashes in this photo, along with some of the girls in my extended family, in honor of my great-grandma Hilda's 100th birthday anniversary.  The eyelashes were a trademark of hers, she was a hair stylist.

   

Great-Grandma Hilda is legendary in our family. I feel a little guilty about picking a favorite ancestor, but she takes the cake.  I always loved hearing stories about her from my mother. During a time when public segregation and persecution of minorities was still accepted, she befriended and advocated for the Navajo Indians in her community. When none of the other stylists would cut their hair, she welcomed them with open arms. I'm thankful to have roots like that.

If I bumped into great-grandma Hilda at the entrance of the pearly gates I'm not sure she would recognize me from anyone else's great- grandkid.  The only photograph I have with her is grainy and yellowed. In it I am a chubby, jowly, baby and I am too young hold up my own head or realize her importance.  Despite this, I feel like I do know her.  I grew up listening to stories from my mother and father how soft-hearted but tough, how respected, how wonderful she was.  My first memory of my mother crying was after her death, I was 5 or 6 years old. My mother took my little brother Justin to go to her funeral and came back with a box full of dress up clothes for my sister and I. It was all gawdy stuff- clip on earrings that made our ears hurt and musky, perfumed, dresses and hats but it made us feel like she had just given us a present.

There is something about knowing you came from good stock that is empowering. There is motivation to be found in the stories of our family histories. I'd like to think that there are maybe even good parts of me that came from her.