My Family Tree

By Trouble'D Thoughts

This story follows the life of Daniel Goodman IV. Daniel looks back on his life when his son asks him about slavery and racism after learning about it in school.

• Language: English
• Publisher: AuthorHouse
• Release date: Dec 4, 2014
• ISBN: 9781496945365

Trouble'D Thoughts

Up-and-coming new author.

Book preview

© 2014 Trouble’D Thoughts . All rights reserved.

No part of this book may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted by any means without the written permission of the author.

Published by AuthorHouse 10/03/2014

ISBN: 978-1-4969-4537-2 (sc)

ISBN: 978-1-4969-4536-5 (e)

Any people depicted in stock imagery provided by Thinkstock are models,

and such images are being used for illustrative purposes only.

Certain stock imagery © Thinkstock.

Because of the dynamic nature of the Internet, any web addresses or links contained in this book may have changed since publication and may no longer be valid. The views expressed in this work are solely those of the author and do not necessarily reflect the views of the publisher, and the publisher hereby disclaims any responsibility for them.

Scripture quotations marked KJV are from the Holy Bible, King James Version (Authorized Version). First published in 1611. Quoted from the KJV Classic Reference Bible, Copyright © 1983 by The Zondervan Corporation.

Contents

Prologue

The Story of Daniel Goodman IV

The Story of Daniel Goodman III

The Story of Daniel Goodman, Jr

Prologue

In a time where it was literally illegal against the law for blacks to integrate with whites, my father fearlessly mingled with them. In fact, he went so far as to marrying one of them, a white lady named Abigail. And he boldly flaunted her off around every white man he could because he knew it would get under their skin. Which ultimately lead him to his demise whether he knew it or not. And even though we were living in one of the least racist places, Minnesota still had just as much hatred against interracial dating as the southern states did. They just weren’t as forthright and outward with it like say a place like Mississippi. Although that was quickly proven to be the case the day my father went to trail and was convicted on multiple counts of murder in less than an hour. And even though he wasn’t actually guilty of all the crimes he was being charged with the all white jury found him guilty of sleeping with a white woman more than anything. Which was also punishable by death in the eyes of the jury. And because my father knew these things, he fearlessly took the sentencing of the death penalty with a smile, I was told. Just to hear how my father reacted resonated with me so deep that I knew the way I innately was all stemmed from my family tree.

The Story of Daniel Goodman IV

February 8, 2013

To say the least, my son was a spitting image of me. Even at just the tender age of seven he possessed everything down to my handsome good looks, my eagerness to learn, and my sheer tenacity. That’s exactly why I wasn’t surprised not one bit to see him get excited about learning about black history. And I wasn’t equally shocked either, when he came to me and asked me to tell about our family tree. Because today in school he said he learned about a time in history when there was this thing called slavery. Which really threw me totally through a loop, because it was told to him like it was a thing that happened a really-really long time ago. In spite of the fact that black people were allowed the right to vote just a little over forty years ago. Which meant everyone in their forties and older were directly affected by the backlash of slavery first hand. The only difference now was that black people aren’t in jeopardy of getting whipped with a lash whenever they protest or show the slightest hint of bravery most befitting to a strong black man. Well, not at least as much as they did say around forty years ago. When back in those days it was a crime if a bus driver asked a black person to give up their seat for a white person and they told them no.

I guess that’s the exact reason why he wanted to know why are some of the things that went on back then still going on today. Which I told him, Son, it’s very simple; It’s because black people are still slaves til’ this day. They’re enslaved by the lack of education, which sends them to prison. And they’re enslaved by the lack of jobs, which keeps them at odds.

Then he ever so childlike asked me, Dad, how can this be?

Which I told him, Son, it’s very simple; It’s because most black people live in poverty.

He shook his head looking dumbfounded, because he didn’t seem to understand. Then he asked me, Dad, how can black people still be so disenfranchised (loosely speaking) when the President is a black man?

Which was an extremely good question, because it caused me to scratch my head and pause for a second. In fact, it took me a good little minute to come up with what I thought was a good enough answer. And the best way I could describe it was by comparing it to cancer. I tried to explain to him that it was deep rooted and it was implanted to be a generational curse. In fact, it was something that most black people were embedded with at birth. Just like the racist seeds that were implanted in white people that believed the day the country elected a black president is the day, Pigs Fly. And what would you know; we all got to witness the Swine Flu epidemic with our own eyes.

But I digress, because I knew the best thing I could do for him was start by letting him know about his own family’s history. And I knew I would have to start at the point where my life was so miserable because it was filled with so much mystery. Which lead me to write the first and most important story about my life. And because the book held so much significance to me, I kept it locked away in the safe along with all the other items I valued at a high price. Even though I knew the day would come when I would have to share the story with him, I just thought it would be when he was old enough to read it for himself. But I guess its fate that he learned about it like I did without any stealth. So I told it to him just like my father told it to me. Which was nothing but the truth, because the truth would set me free. And I started off by telling him what I learned about fear. Like how fear was just a state of being ignorant because most people felt inferior and mere. And how most people aren’t able to see past what their eyes can see. Moreover, how fear really stops a person from becoming the best that they can be, and how it’s truly a lack of faith in God. Which Whom, you are suppose to put above all.

After I told him the base of the story I begin to read him the book. And even though the parent in me wanted to hide the hard nature of it, I knew it was my obligation to tell him about a story of hatred, racism, ignorance, and most of all perseverance just like my father told me, even if it caused him to become a little shook.

The Story of Daniel Goodman III

August 4, 1988

All aboard! The Amtrak conductor yelled, letting everyone know that it was that time to say their final farewell to their family members and exchange hugs or whatever before they got left behind. In spite of me purposely sitting on the platform bench nearest to the boarding area so I could be one of the first few to board the train to avoid that from being me, I was quickly shown that that wasn’t going to be the case. Moreover, I was also shown that I wasn’t just about to be one of the first to board the train in spite of what I thought, because first priority was given to the whites. Now I see why all the black people didn’t move in a haste like I did and just stood back and let them go first. But after about the tenth person he let go before me I shoved my ticket in his hand and demanded that he took it so I could proceed to board the train. However, he quickly stopped me in my tracks by grabbing me by my arm.

Hold on now! Where you think you’re going?

I’m getting on the train. Where you think?!

But we first have to seat those of higher priority, like those of first class.

Oh well, that’s even better. Cause that’s exactly where I’m sitting at, too. I happily said, like it would clear up the confusion.

But when I saw the way he looked at my ticket like it was counterfeit or something, and how he had to call over another conductor to further examine it, I knew it was sure to be something else. Especially, when they proceeded to walk away from me in attempt to conceal what they were saying. After a couple of minutes I was even more than certain that there was problem, or if it wasn’t they was going to make one for me because of the way I looked.

35456.png

A light skinned curly hair man looking questionably white always arose suspicion. Especially in the part of Boston where I was from that wouldn’t accept, and moreover respect any other race than white. So of course the fact that of me looking possibly Jewish wasn’t good or close enough to me being white to avoid the excessive mistreatment at times. Which I had the hardest time understanding when I was young, and even still to the present day leaves me baffle sometimes. But thank God for my grandmother, because she was the one who prepared me for all the things I would most likely go through because of the way I looked. Although I didn’t find out it was because my father was black until about a week ago. (May have to delete…..In spite of everything, I knew if it wasn’t for her I wouldn’t had known that the only way to combat ignorance was with patience and kindness. Cause if not, I would’ve been in trouble far too many times to count.)

35459.png

Even though I knew some confrontations were unavoidable, especially if it had anything to do with race. And from the sour look on the two conductors faces as they walked back towards me, I knew that this was definitely one of those potential confrontations that I wouldn’t had been able to avoid if it wasn’t for grandmother’s infinite wisdom.

This ticket is for first class, the conductor who initially took my ticket said with an immense displeasure.

Yeah, I know. It’s the ticket my grandmother said she was going to get for me. Isn’t that funny? I sarcastically said.

Even though I knew by the look on his face said he was in the mood to be anything but playful. And he proved exactly that when he started to talk to me in a the most disrespectful