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Freedom Is My Legacy

Celebrating A Family's Quest To Be Free

By Misty RaePublished 2 years ago Updated 2 years ago 8 min read
19
Just Me

See that girl? Well, not a girl, really, a 50-year-old woman. That's me at my most free, flying through the air on a warm summer day with nary a care in the world.

As I get older and watch world events unfold, I'm increasingly aware and grateful for the freedom I have. I'm fortunate enough to have the ability to do what I want, to worship or not worship anyone or anything, to speak my mind and to carve out the type of life I want and live it.

I'm also acutely aware of the fact that if it weren't for some key people in my family and their selfless bravery, my life could have been very different. They are, to me, heroes in every sense of the word. They not only made my freedom possible but helped shape what freedom means to me.

Because of these brave men and women, I see freedom and the need to fight for it as both my legacy and my birthright.

As a multiracial woman, I am descended from slaves. My 6th great grandfather, Paris O'Ree was enslaved, along with his parents, Doublin and Bess on a South Carolina rice plantation.

Photo Courtesy of Fold3: A bill of sale which includes Paris O'Ree alongside 17 cows and 2 horses. You can only imagine how jarring it is to see your own ancestors listed as nothing more than chattels

Paris ran away from the plantation at 15. He made his way to Charleston and joined the British Army. At 19, he boarded the Sovereign at New York City and sailed to Saint John, New Brunswick. He started a new life, eventually married and had a family.

At 15, he was nothing more than a boy. He made a critical decision that changed the course of history, my history. Somewhere, deep in his soul, he must have known that he was worth more than the norms of the day were telling him. He knew he was a man, a human being, not a farm implement, not livestock.

I marvel at his bravery and weep for what I imagine he went through. A child, alone, tired, cold, hungry and terrified, willing to face the unknown for a shot at something better. Willing to take up arms to ensure others would never have to endure what he and others before him did.

When I was 15 my biggest decision was what colour eyeshadow worked best with my outfit for the school dance.

Without that teenager's decision, I wouldn't be here today. And neither would Willie O'Ree, the first Black player in the NHL. Because he chose to run and fight, we got to shine.

Of course, the story didn't end there. My family continued to fight for freedom, not just for enslaved Africans, but for the world at large. Both my grandfathers, Reuben Johnson, Sr. and Moses Stevenson were members of the No. 2 Construction Battalion, an all-Black regiment that served during World War 1.

No. 2 Black Construction Battalion: Photo Credit, Black Cultural Centre: https://bccns.com/our-history/black-battalion-history/#:~:text=African%20Canadians%20in%20the%20First,had%20fight%20anti%2DBlack%20racism.

Thankfully, both men came home alive. But Reuben, who signed up as a 16-year-old, was forever changed by his experiences. They both put their lives on the line to protect the freedom they believed in even though they often didn't get to enjoy that freedom due to their race.

Decades later, my father, Reuben, aka Rudy, enlisted to serve in the Korean War, following the family legacy of fighting for freedom. He was in his early twenties and in 1953 he boarded the HMCS Huron as part of the First Commonwealth Division.

My father in Korea

After returning from Korea, he continued to serve and to work toward ensuring the freedom of the world's people. He participated in 3 peacekeeping missions in Cyprus and remained in the military for over 30 years.

My father, part of the 1973 group in Cyprus

And when he wasn't fighting for the world's freedom, he was quietly fighting for mine. He wouldn't have used these words, but he believed with everything in him that education was the great emancipator. Through education, he was determined to give his children the freedom that he never had.

While he flourished in the Army and had a great career, he was acutely aware that his lack of education held him back. It held him back from rising through the ranks despite having the practical ability to lead. It held him back in understanding many routine matters many of us take for granted.

Growing up during the Great Depression and WWll, he was the eldest boy of 11 children. He was a keen, bright and hardworking boy, but schoolwork didn't come easy to him. He struggled through grades 1 through 4 and eventually was held back in grade 5. And on a warm day in late June 1940, he made the decision to leave school. He instead went to work to help support his family.

He encouraged me. He sometimes pushed me. He instilled the value of an education in me from the very second he laid eyes on me. He bought me my first books. He bought me ALL. THE. BOOKS. He taught me little rhymes and was there for every school play, event, spelling bee, competition, awards ceremony and graduation.

He encouraged me to think freely and to have an open mind. He loved intellectual discussions and was well known to local religious groups that would go door-to-door for inviting them into our home to have an exchange of ideas. He often encouraged me to sit in. He'd listen patiently to whatever they had to say, then offer his thoughts respectfully. In many ways, I credit him for my wide open, free mind.

Then, there's my mother. She was a proud woman with a proud heritage of fighting for freedom herself. Her father, as I mentioned, served in WWl as a member of the No.2 Construction Battalion. But on the other side of her family tree were ancestors quietly seeking freedom of their own.

My mother's grandfather, Arthur Francis, was a member of the Mi'kmiq First Nation, an Indigenous nation in Atlantic Canada.

Rudy and Winnie: Both Freedom Fighters In Their Own Right

Her experience and that of her family added another lawyer to the rich conception of freedom I developed.

Not only did she have to fight, physically fight, every day on her way to school to get an education for being Black, but she watched her cousins, aunts and uncles being marginalized on reservations, treated by the government as children in a paternalistic arrangement.

One story she told me as a child stands out. She had an uncle, I don't remember his name, but I think it was Archie. Archie liked to have a drink now and then. Archie had smooth brown skin and silky straight black hair. Archie wasn't allowed in the liquor store. Archie looked "too Indian."

As a small child, I never understood the importance of that anecdote. It was just a story about how things used to be. Except it wasn't.

My family, her family, continues to this day to fight for the freedom to determine their own destiny, to govern themselves as they see fit, to be the nation that they are.

She stood beside my father in his quest to emancipate me through education. She was a brilliant woman, a bright student who skipped not one but two grades but found herself with no option but low paid domestic work. That was NOT happening to her child!

She taught me to read those books my father bought when I was 3. She was the first person to call the school and give them hell when I was admonished for thinking outside the box or insisting on being excused when I really did have to pee.

She taught me to not accept authority blindly, to be free to accept or reject what I was taught or told regardless of who was doing the teaching or telling.

I still remember the time in grade 12 when we students decided to walk out because the teachers were going on a work-to-rule campaign that would take away all of our graduation class activities along with the annual drama festival. Any student taking part was threatened with immediate suspension. I took part. I was not suspended.

Why? Because my mother got on the phone and backed me up. She called the principal and let him know that her daughter (and the other students) had the right to be heard. We had the right to assemble, the Constitutional right, to gather and any interference with that right would be met with the full extent of her fury.

Together, backed by generations of brave freedom fighters, they shaped my idea of freedom against the backdrop of the Cold War. A war that I thought back then, we were winning.

I was a part of the generation that saw the Berlin Wall fall. I was there when they freed Mandela. I wore the t-shirts, I blasted all the songs. I was there when WHAM was the first western act to play in China, Communist freaking China!

Honestly, I weep for humanity because I, and many of my generation thought we had this figured out. We seriously thought we healed the world and brought freedom to all.

Apparently, it takes more than pop music and t-shirts. It takes brave people willing to take a stand.

And because of them, I'm here. I'm free. I'm pretty sure my parents wouldn't agree with my choices. They wouldn't agree with me leaving the legal profession I spent so many years to get into and so many years in. They wouldn't agree with me taking up with the awful boy that broke my heart so many times. They wouldn't agree with my airing my dirty laundry in my writing. But they would agree and would fight to the death for my right to do it.

I humbly thank my proud and brave ancestors for forging a path for me and those that come after me to enjoy the freedom we have. Because of them, I'm free to be as offbeat, unconventional, and weird as I please. I'm free to speak my mind without fear, to live my life, to chase butterflies and rainbows. Because of Paris, Reuben, Rudy, Moses, Winnie, Archie and countless others, I stand proudly before you as Misty, a free, truly free woman.

immediate family
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About the Creator

Misty Rae

Retired legal eagle, nature love, wife, mother of boys and cats, chef, and trying to learn to play the guitar. I play with paint and words. Living my "middle years" like a teenager and loving every second of it!

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Outstanding

Excellent work. Looking forward to reading more!

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