Family Story Matters

Over the last few weeks, I've tried to give the childhood account of both Mom and Dad . Both my parents were born in 1928 and both experienced tragic loss at an early age (Mom lost her father to pneumonia in 1936; Dad lost his mother to tuberculosis in 1940). I refer to the years from 1938-1943 as their "lost years."  I know Dad went to live with his father and stepmother shortly after his mother's death -- perhaps in early 1941. I have a newspaper article from 1942 that shows my father and his brother as part of the Victory Garden program in Houston.  Mom's history requires a bit more imagination. The 1937 Houston City Directory shows my recently widowed grandmother living there in an apartment -- I assume while attending secretarial school. This fact, coupled with oral history, indicates Mom must be living with her aunt (my grandmother's sister). The 1940 census confirms this living arrangement in the rural Texas town of Ellinger ("on the west side of ...

  left side: Veron Bryan right side:  Alleyne Jackson A few weeks ago I hinted at the contentious relationship between my dad and his father. The story Dad shared is (mostly) verified by the research. Walter Albert Coleman and Veron Bryan married on November 26, 1926. Walter was 17 years 5 months, and Veron 16 years 9 months. By today's standards, they were mere children. Less than fifteen months later, Gleason Walter Coleman (my father) was born. Dad claims Walter left soon after the birth. However, he returned home to Veron long enough to impregnate her one more time. When Dad was twenty months old, my Uncle Freddie was born. According to Dad, his father was completely absent from their lives until Veron passed in 1940. At that time, her sister contacted Walter to let him know it was time to take responsibility for his children.  Dad and Freddie were sent to Houston to live with Walter and his new wife, Alleyne. Dad referred to her with the same disdain one reads about...

  When I began this family history quest two years ago, I knew little about my parents' childhoods. They rarely shared memories of the past, and I was too busy with life to ask many questions. After Mom's passing in 2011, I inherited a few plastic tubs filled with snapshots and old papers. Many of the photographs are of little value because I don't recognize the subject: unnamed army buddies that have long since passed or scenic car rides to unknown places.  However, I have discovered a few lost treasures. One of which is ... My Mother's Baby Book At first blush, this "dainty brochure" (as described on the front page) gives only a glimpse into Mom's past. For example, it confirms she was born on April 30, 1928, but it also includes the time (4:30pm) and her weight (9 pounds!) My grandmother kept track of each baby gift (and its giver), and the quintessential list of firsts: 1st smile (one week old) - 1st tooth (4 months 10 days) - 1st words (bye-bye and Ma...

I saw this photograph for the first time in the late 1990s. Mom gave me several old family pictures for their 50th-anniversary scrapbook. This one was simply labeled: Ma Miles. Mom rarely spoke of her paternal grandmother. The only story I heard was " she kicked my mother and me out of the house after my daddy died. " Mom had no love nor respect for the woman, and quite honestly, neither did I.  When I first set eyes on my great-grandmother, I knew Mom's story must be true. "Ma" looked like a bitter old woman. Her hair was severely pulled back into a tight little bun. Round glasses framed her beady black eyes. I saw the quintessential evil stepmother who evicted an eight-year-old girl from the only home she ever knew. Twenty years later, that scrapbook sits on the bookshelf, and I've plunged into the world of genealogy. Research helps me discover the truth about my ancestors. The vital documents and census reports reveal long lost stories that remained famil...