02 The Chosen Ones | Ras
02 The Chosen Ones | Ras, Acrylic on Chipboard, 44 x 55”h, (c) Heidi Jeub
I knew him by another name and I asked the reason for the change. I know little of Rastafarianism, and did my fair share of googling, and listening to a playlist provided by Ras, which means “King”. I realized that my only reference came from Fugees song lyrics, and a distant knowledge of Bob Marley. Therefore, I had plenty to learn.
While this is not a book report of another person’s relationship to God, I realized this is not a lifestyle or pop song, either. We spoke of something more important than me telling of his journey.
We lived across the street from each other years ago, when our children were young. Our kids played together a few times, but that was a blurry period of a plethora of play dates.
How we carried ourselves, had conversations, or craved specific cuisine, meant that we both had bloodlines that revolve around the waters of Lake Michigan. We aren’t from around here, but we were from Chicago. I could blend pretty easily. But in his case, the hint that he was from somewhere else was his dark skin tone.
What we both seem to value is rediscovering our ancestry, mine through strong Polish women, and his by ways of Jamaica. We knew that our blood line is more than just food and culture, but of something instinctual and purposeful. Our duty is to pass that onto our children.
His children are learning what their ancestry is and what they are to become. He calls them the chosen ones.
The chosen ones... his children... my children. We look at them in their sleep with love. When they are awake, we find there are opportunities to teach them what we know, what we regret, and what we are learning about ourselves. In a world that seems to think that we know it all, and that we are right, and they are wrong, Ras is teaching his son to know his ancestry, and continue to hold space with pride and knowledge.
Our children no longer play together like they did in the play dates of our early parenting. Yet we get to watch our children enter a revolution knowing where they come from. It is not a physical place... somewhere else... but it comes from within.
As their parents, we must provide them with wisdom of what the world was and is, and the courage to fight for what can be.
