Mend the chain

Two weeks ago, I went to my 95 year old uncle's funeral. During the eulogy, well it was actually a sermon preached by my cousin, I became both sad and proud. Other family members and friends were talking about the past and remembering the good times. As time past, many stories seemed to create links and draw me limbs on the family tree.

This was the part that made me sad and proud at the same time. First the pride..

I am so proud of the accomplishment and roots of my family. I am so proud that I can draw the tree and connect many of the branches. I am proud that my family has valued "family". I know what profession my father and mother had. My first name, Allan, was my grandfather's name. Six men in my family are named Allan. George, my middle name, is my father's name. Shervington, my other middle name, is my great-grand mother's maiden name. Other members of my family are also named Shervington. As far as I know, my mother's maiden name Jacobs come from our Jewish roots. According to tale, my great-grandfather was a Jewish and married my great grandmother who was from Antigua. Oh, Annie Shervington was her name. That's were the shervington comes from and also Anna, which is my cousin's name.

The web of family is important. At least it is to my family. I could continue with the family tree and all the relationships, but the sad part is why I'm writing this blog.

The sad part....

As an educator in an urban high school, I talk to kids everyday who have no relationship with one of their parents, any of their parents or don't know that parent at all. I almost never assume that a parent's last name is the same as the child. I almost never assume that both parents live in the home.

Children today have issues that we can't begin to comprehend. They look to us for love, belonging and stability. So many children yearn for caring and a parental figure in their everyday life. Many of them are very angry and at it out every single day. If one of my parents didn't care enough to love me, stay with me or be in my life, my anger would consume every interaction.

How would you feel is you had no clue who your father was? Just think about that question. That thought consumes me and my heart goes out to all those who didn't have the support I had. My heart bleeds for those who ache, cry, scream, and yearn for the love and caring that only a teacher or staff member can give.

As usual, I just stop typing mid-thought, before the rambling really gets bad.