Over the past eleven years—and especially since the inception of Culturally Committed—one teaching has echoed repeatedly in my ears: know who you are and where you come from. (Thank you, George.) I often witness how fluently people can recite their family lineage, identifying connections with ease. Just recently, I introduced two of our mentors to each other: Jared Qwustenuxun Williams (Quw’utsun) and Thomas George Jr. (Halalt). As they traced their family trees further and further back, I watched in awe as they effortlessly uncovered their connection.
I vividly recall the first time I was asked to name my grandparents. It was around 2014, at an Elders Gathering in Victoria. I had been invited to participate in a cultural activity—something no one had ever asked me before. Unsure whether it was appropriate as a non-Indigenous person, I hesitated. But after being reassured, I stepped into a private room, where I was met by a kind woman. We stood facing each other, and she asked for my grandparents’ first and last names. I felt a flicker of panic, then embarrassment as I faltered. It took me a moment to recall the maiden name of my paternal grandmother, Betty Neufeld. That moment was a realization: I did not have a firm connection to my roots.
As I began to understand the cultural importance of introductions, I realized I needed to know more about where I came from. I grew up on a farm in Treaty 2 Territory, in what is colonially known as Brandon, Manitoba. I knew my grandparents had immigrated here and built a family farm. My dad spoke only German when he first went to school, so I assumed that was the extent of our history. He rarely spoke about our ancestry. Occasionally, distant relatives would pass through and stop by, but as a child, I never felt a strong connection to them.
When I moved to Vancouver Island in 2013, my dad reminded me that I had an aunt and cousins in Victoria. In the years since, I’ve begun reconnecting with his cousin, Sandra, and last year we arranged to meet for lunch. We sat together at a restaurant in Victoria’s Inner Harbour for four hours, as she shared stories of our family—names I had never heard, lives I had never known, a legacy that left me in awe. I left that lunch bubbling over with excitement, calling my parents to share what I had learned. But the details, the names, the stories—they were already slipping from my grasp, like trying to hold onto mist.
Earlier this month, I celebrated my birthday with my parents, who were visiting from Manitoba. Sandra and I decided it was the perfect opportunity to gather again—this time, with my dad. When she arrived at the restaurant, she carried a gift bag: a birthday present for me.
Again, we sat for hours, Sandra recounting the same stories, this time for my dad to hear. I watched as he absorbed them, processing pieces of our history that had long been buried. Then, at the end of lunch, Sandra invited me to open my gift. Inside was an anthology of our family history, tracing back to my paternal great-grandparents: Sarah Neufeld (née Loewen), born September 30, 1882, in Olgafeld, Ukraine, and Wilhelm Esau, born July 16, 1883, in Kherson, Ukraine.
Now, as I sit on my couch, turning the pages of this family-made compilation, I find myself holding something more than just stories—I am holding a piece of who I am. That is such a gift. In the introduction, it reads:
"There is a tendency to think of history in academic terms, that it is about people and events we read about in school… but for those of us of Neufeld and Esau ancestry, the history of our grandparents affects our lives because they have prepared the path of the future for us."
I am grateful for this link to the path and the opportunity to pass what I learn onto my own children. This journey of understanding who I am and where I come from is an unearthing—layer by layer, uncovering the stories that have shaped me. All this time, I have introduced myself as being of German descent on my father’s side, and English and Irish on my mother’s. But just like every aspect of my cultural humility journey, I am navigating this imperfectly, guided by the information I have access to. Thank you also to the Mentors, for role-modeling this important practice, and inspiring me to dig deeper. Huy tseep q'u, siem.
Always, always learning.
<3 Kim
This Teaching's Tuesday was originally published on April 16, 2024.
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