My Initial Email to Cousin Elizabeth (5)

By W. F. Twyman, Jr.

Imagine

One July day in Earlysville, all living descendants of George Twyman I return to Buck Mountain Church. They return by plane. Some travel by train. Others drive up from Richmond and surrounding areas. Everyone enters the church through the front door. There is standing room only and the overflow surrounds the Church and envelopes the parking lot. Overcome with emotion, Connie greets each and every Twyman who has returned home. The agenda for the family reunion is Truth and Reconciliation. Connie serves as Moderator, symbolic stand-in for George Twyman III. The assembled Twymans feel the pull of the moment, a moment to bear witness for all that has been unsaid and unspoken. Connie opens up the meeting with fundamental questions—What does it mean to be a Twyman? What does it mean to be Family? Must Race matter?

There is an uncomfortable silence.

Shelby says being a Twyman means having to spell your name at the sales counter. “T-W-Y-M-A-N.” Soft laughter ripples through the sanctuary. And Beloved Cousin chimes in, “Don’t forget the misspellings… “T-W-I-M-A-N, W-Y-M-A-N. I think I saw T-H-A-I-M-A-N once or twice there.” More chuckles cascade in the assembled crowd. Winthrop says being a Twyman means always wanting to know about your past. There are so few of us.

Jim: One of the most emotional moments in my life was deciding whether I should change my name to Twyman. It was my birthright. There is a famous book, The Promised Land, about a slaveholder, James Twyman. James freed all of his slaves when he died and gave them enough money to start a new life in Ohio. After James died, Nancy Toms gave birth to James’ son while traveling in a stagecoach across the Appalachian Mountains. Nancy named her baby boy, Traveler Smith. So Smith is my last name but I really should have been a Twyman. My daughter whispered in my ear, “He must be mixed. I can tell.”

Victoria: I come here from a different perspective. Anthony Twyman impregnated the mother of my 4xgreatgrandmother Eliza Thomas. Because of shameful things that occurred during slavery, Eliza changed her surname and then the family changed the surname again. I’m thankful for the DNA tools we have today, otherwise, I would never know the truth. In a sense, I bear witness today for my ancestors who lied to protect their descendants from shame long ago. I think all of us who are descendants are on an inner journey to make sense of our Twyman lineage. My feelings are mixed towards Anthony Twyman. Should I feel pietas? Resentment? Some combination of these emotions?

Beloved Cousin: Inner Journey? You’ve been hanging around Winkfield too much. I promised myself I would keep quiet but I can’t help myself. These men owned slaves and raped our ancestors. Now, there, I said it. That’s real.

Ghost of Gene Twyman: George Twyman perceived blacks as slaves and slaves as property. That was his world. There’s no deeper meaning here. He was born into it like others of his time. We can’t judge the man by 2018 standards. We have to separate the good from the bad, the great from the deplorable.

Ghost of Bill Twyman: It bothers me greatly that so many are trying to ignore and erase historical facts. It’s like “If I can erase it, or ignore it, it will go away! I prefer the saying, ‘those who ignore history are doomed to repeat it’”

Connie: How do we reconcile the perspectives of Jim, Victoria, Gene and Bill with the pain that Beloved Cousin feels today for past violations of her slave ancestors? How do we get through it because we all must get through it together and not be afraid of the truth. If we could bring George Twyman III back to life, what would he say to us today?

Beloved Cousin: First, he would die of a heart attack. I mean, come on, the man owned us.

Me: Beloved Cousin, he owned us and we owned us. We are just as much a part of George as we are a part of Charlotte. There are two levels at work here—whites and blacks growing to know one another across the color line and blacks breaching the color line in our minds between black and white ancestors. The outer work of reaching across the aisle to shake Winthrop’s hand will always be easier than the inner work of creating a healthy identity as the descendants of slaves and slaveholders.

Beloved Cousin: I’m going to cut to the chase, Winkfield. I’m not ready to move on from slavery. I don’t have anything against you, Winthrop, or you, Shelby, but I got the raw end of the slavery deal.

Me: No one is pure evil or pure saint. You know that Beloved Cousin. I’ve held his letters in my hands. George Twyman III was not a man to challenge norms and mores. He was Moderator of this Church for a reason. I also know that he was dynastic. He looked into the future for his family. He knew he could influence the young after he passed away. He wrote in his Old English Episcopal Prayer Book “God give him grace therein to look – not only look but understand that learning is better than house and land for when house and land are gone and spent the learning will prove most excellent.” [get reprint permission from the Albemarle Charlottesville Historical Society]

Beloved Cousin: And he owned slaves.

Me: And he was complex about slavery. On the one hand, he did not lift a finger to console a runaway slave who complained of hunger. On the other hand, he disapproved of slave mistreatment and was willing to game the law so that, after his death, certain slaves would remain in the State of Virginia as constructive freed men. The man was complex within his constraints.

Victoria (turns towards Shelby): What keeps me from moving on inside is provincial thinking. Shelby may love me as Victoria, a distant cousin, but she sets a precondition on her love: She will never disown or disavow her slaveholder ancestors and that burns inside me when I think about what my slave ancestors endured, what Eliza endured. I’ve never heard a White American say they feel ashamed.

Anthony (turns towards Victoria): Take my hand, Victoria. Hold my hand and look at me. I want you to know I have known shame in my heart. Did you know I deny my ancestors in academic circles? I pretend my ancestors didn’t own slaves. I talk up my immigrant ancestors from Ireland, Germany and Poland. I conceal my Twyman ancestors because I am ashamed. When I first learned about slavery in school, I knew slavery was evil and I wanted to be descended from abolitionists, from Union soldiers. My life changed forever when my Dad told me Twymans owned slaves. I looked at my Dad as if he were descended from monsters. I have always known shame inside. Please forgive me and my namesake, Anthony Twyman. Anthony’s shirtsleeves are wet from tears as resentment melts inside Victoria’s heart.

My Daughter: This is what I think about slavery. I’m the only black student in my private school class. Whenever the discussion turns to slavery, all of the white students turn to me as if I’m some expert on slavery. I feel I have to perform a role, play act.

Anthony: You know how you erase the slaveholders from your past? We erase slaves from our past. We are willfully ignorant. And we feel guilt, triggered. You remind me of a great evil from the past.

Winthrop: We can’t erase everyone who owned slaves from our history. We owe our ancestors our very existence. Slavery was horrific but, in their time, it was considered unremarkable. And we all remain haunted by our past, some more than others. We can’t change the past but, if we change the way we perceive the past, we can let go and move on and embrace one another as true cousins.

Shelby: You don’t have to play act when you’re with family. When I learned about slavery in school, I felt like the spotlight was on me too because my ancestors owned slaves.

My daughter whispers, I know.

Shelby: You don’t have to play act with family.

Daughter: I know, as her eyes well up with tears.

Shelby: You can be yourself with family.

My Daughter hugs Shelby and weeps.

Fears and vulnerabilities, joys and triumphs are shared freely and openly among cousins. Hearts are opened. Resentments are set free from burdened spirits. Joy resides in tears. Shelby and Winthrop huddle with Beloved Cousin as traveling souls reunited. It is a moment of grace, amazing grace.

As the meeting ends, hundreds of Twymans shake hands and embrace as is the custom in church. Winthrop, Shelby, Victoria, Anthony, Jim, Connie and I lead countless Twymans down an old country road towards Oak Lawn. George Twyman III built Oak Lawn in 1750 upon a land grant of 1,000 acres from King George II. The road is filled with family, cousins from all parts of the country. There are all shades of humanity imaginable, from the darkest-skinned African Americans to brown-skinned, light-skinned and white-skinned cousins. Color doesn’t matter today in this hour on this country road. Color has ceased to divide.

We turn right at the sign post for Oak Lawn. As we walk up the long, elegant driveway to the family place, everyone knows we are consecrating Oak Lawn today. There are picnic tables set up outside on the lawn. A band plays Every Changing Times by Aretha Franklin and Michael McDonald followed by Count on Me by Whitney Houston and CeCe Winans. In my mind’s eye, I see Beloved Cousin’s Mom sharing beetle tales with Winthrop’s kids. Even my daughter is charmed by Shelby who has the wit of Beloved Cousin. I look across the broad fields and remember all of us were united by this place ages ago. And it moves me. This day is what was meant to be for us, and for our country. Slavery drove our family apart but this day, we have reclaimed our past. We have rendered Oak Lawn hallowed ground. Never again will we allow race to divide our Twyman Family.

Connie motions for me to say a few words….

Such peace today.

Did you know before today that your life would be changed on an old country road? That your sense of self would change? That your place in the universe would change? My heart overflows. It is all, it is all that I have ever wished for myself, for my children: That we live together and embrace one another as Family across the color line. And this change will lead us to the blessed society where divisions melt away. May Oak Lawn no longer be remembered for slavery. From this day henceforth, may Oak Lawn be remembered for First Contact, for when our genetic family became a Family. Never will the trials and tribulations of earlier times intrude upon our times today. And we all vow never to pass along resentment and guilt to our descendants. The darkness of slavery stops. And it stops today. It stops for all time to come.

Anthony bursts into song, singing Amazing Grace. Soon everyone joins in. The music of peace at the center, of redemption, rings throughout the fields and resounds within Oak Lawn. All are moved to sing like never before. Our voices reach for the heavens as if to touch the Creator with the good news down below. Feelings sweep over me with each wave of melodic emotion.

I exhale and lose myself in ageless tears.

Oak Lawn

By replacing fear of the unknown with curiosity we open ourselves up to an infinite stream of possibility. We can let fear rule our lives or we can become childlike with curiosity, pushing out boundaries, leaping out of our comfort zones, and accepting what life puts before us.

---Alan Watts

George Twyman I (1661 - ?)

George Twyman II (1698 – 1733)

George Twyman III (1731 – 1818)

Samuel Twyman (1759 – 1823)

Charlotte Twyman (1790 - ?)

Robert Twyman (1822 - ?)

Scott Twyman (1848 – 1939)

James Twyman (1885 – 1934)

Winkfield Twyman Sr. (1934 - ?)

Winkfield Twyman Jr. (1961 - ?)

Three Twyman Children

[Conclusion: With these parting words, I reached out to Elizabeth as a kindred soul. All I do is think about greater understanding in the world. Elizabeth felt the same way and so two branches of an Old American bloodline were reunited. I have lived many experiences, been in many places in my life. Living in a world of ghetto life has never been me. Destiny set me on a course for the larger world and I found Elizabeth, the rest of my Twyman story in this country. The country of my birth.

So much hope and love reduced to inadequate words. I hope you have enjoyed this condensed correspondence. Next week, I return to my daily essays.

Good morning from sunny San Diego!]