On Saturday, while all of my friends at Longwood were basking in the glory of Oktoberfest, I was far away, sipping tea and eating scones with the descendants of men who fought on the losing side of a conflict that took place 150 years ago. I received a certificate that states that I now officially belong to Chapter 1616 of the United Daughters of the Confederacy (UDC).
When I told people what I was doing this weekend, I got a lot of confused looks. A large amount of people ask me why I'm doing this. I have a lot of reasons —but before anyone else asks, I firmly believe in racial equality, I do not want the South to rise again, and I know that secession is wrong. Really, the reason I did it is because I love Civil War history and genealogy and this is an organization that is really about these two things.
I was literally born to be a Daughter of the Confederacy. To become a full-fledged member, you have to be able to prove you are blood related to a Confederate soldier or to someone who aided the cause of the Confederacy. To get my certificate and earn the right to call myself a Daughter of the Confederacy, I had to submit several generations of birth certificates and several pages of paperwork to the Registrar, a tiny woman of about 70 who I met with about four times over the summer, usually at a gas station. Basically, the compilation of these things proved that I was the great, great, great granddaughter of James Monroe Clift, a private in the ninth Virginia Cavalry Regiment. Thanks to that, I was invited to attend the organization's annual tea.
Saturday was certainly an adventure. My enthusiastic mother and my cousin Kim, a Civil War re-enactor, had made sure that I had period clothing to wear. This consisted of a hand-stitched blouse, a long skirt and a slip. I thought I looked like a farmer's wife, which would have most likely been my 19th century occupation. My mom thought I looked "adorable."
My grandma and my Aunt Julie, who were also being recognized as new members at the tea, picked me up at noon, and we proceeded to the church. We didn't want to be too early, so we wandered around a few local cemeteries, looking for our confederate relatives. They, being dressed in 21st century clothing, wanted to do something else, but I didn't want to risk any of my high school acquaintances seeing me dressed up and thinking that I had become Amish. The cemeteries were our safest bet.
We arrived at the church where the tea was being held and were greeted by several older women dressed in period clothing —or, rather, they were all dressed like Scarlet O'Hara before the war. I thought my outfit was a little more realistic, considering that my ancestors were all privates in the army. It was apparent to me that they had not consulted a re-enactor when choosing their outfits, but I felt a little bit of place.
These women also wore impressive medals on deep red ribbons. Some bore the names of ancestors; others were shaped like little flags. I'm sure that all of them have certain significance, but as of now, I'm clueless as to how you get all of the medals —though I'm anxious to find out.
They didn't really care that I was dressed to milk cows, or that I didn't know the names of the various fancy deserts on the table and how to eat them properly, or that I didn't have a ribbon covered in fancy little medals. They were much more concerned with telling me how glad they were to have me there. I was, by far, the youngest member —I would dare to say I am the youngest member by 30 years.
I'm excited about becoming a member, but I know that there are certain stereotypes attached to my new title; I know that one of my professors once described the UDC as, to paraphrase, a group of blue-haired old ladies who all wish they were married to Robert E. Lee. I'm not going to say that this description is entirely inaccurate, but I will say that there are a few exceptions to this description and that there is a bit more to it than that. They also like to travel around the state to hear speakers on life during the Civil War, and they volunteer at local museums and give to charities and send letters of encouragement to soldiers stationed overseas.
I'm sure that soon I will have more interesting stories to tell about my time with the Daughters of the Confederacy —my grandma has promised to make me a "belle of the ball" dress, and Aunt Julie says that we're going to get UDC "bling." I know why I'm doing this, but there is a tiny voice somewhere in my head asking, "What have you gotten yourself into?" Only time, and the very fancy UDC newsletters, will tell.
