Fourth of July Memories

In my family, the Fourth of July
was never just about fireworks.

It was history.
Legacy.
Family.

My great-grandmother, Annie Raymond Lee Jefferson Girtman, was born on July 5, 1888.
So every year, our family celebrated not only Independence Day…
but her birthday too.

And somehow, the two always felt connected.

Her parents, Joshua Rayman and Manda Jordan,
were children when the enslaved were set free.

Those stories didn’t come from history books for us.

They came from sitting around listening to “Momma” —
what we all called my great-grandmother.

Manda and her mother moved from Florida,
but her mother had originally been from Virginia,
sold during slavery to a family in Thomasville.

Those were heavy truths.
Painful truths.

But they were told with honesty, remembrance, and strength.

And every year,
our family gathered together carrying those stories forward.

The reunions were grand.

People came home from everywhere
to celebrate Momma.

There was food, laughter, conversation, and storytelling that lasted for hours.

And if you sat still long enough,
you learned something.

About family.
About survival.
About resilience.

My great-grandmother was deeply rooted in her faith.

But family stories also say
she sold bootleg liquor at one point—
which still makes me laugh when I think about it.

Because she was real.

Strong.
Straightforward.
Full of life.

She loved hard,
and she was loved just as deeply in return.

You could almost trace her life through the various last names she carried.

What I remember most
is that she never allowed life to keep her down.

No matter what came her way,
she kept living.
Kept loving.
Kept moving forward.

Those stories became part of me.

And now, they’ve become part of my children too—
even though they never had the pleasure
of meeting Annie Raymond Lee Jefferson Girtman for themselves.

But that’s the beautiful thing about legacy.

When stories are told enough,
love keeps living long after people are gone.

Closing Line

Some families pass down recipes or heirlooms.
Mine passed down stories, strength, and the reminder to keep going no matter what.