I grew up as a single child, raised by one parent in Boston. We were poor. I lived in racially mixed areas and had friends of different races throughout my child hood. Big whoop. It didn’t mean anything then and as I got older, I just became annoyed with people more easily. The idea of ‘reparations’ to descendants of slaves made me roll my eyes. I thought to myself, ‘Well, my family is from the North East; I’m poor and my lineage is Irish/French thus our family didn’t have slaves”
I might be wrong. Like, theres a 70-80% chance I’m wrong.
I was looking up some genealogy when I found a will of a man that I may be a descendant of. Among various sums and items bequeathed was this:
wtf
I might be wrong. Like, theres a 70-80% chance I’m wrong.
I was looking up some genealogy when I found a will of a man that I may be a descendant of. Among various sums and items bequeathed was this:
Item: I give and bequeath to my daughter Mary Wxxxx (Wxxxx, Wxxxx?) one negro boy called Sam. Item: I give and bequeath to my daughter Rebecca Oxxxx one negro girl called (Buck?). Item: I give and bequeath to my granddaughter Eleanor Wxxxx my feather bed and furniture.
wtf
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