I got a call from my Mother the other day telling me it was the Feast Day of Blessed Kateri Tekakwitha my name sake. She had wore her regalia to mass, and of course the priests loved it. May I mention that I was named by a priest who was friends with a Mohawk Chief. This priest was not the kind that have been written up so often latley, and trust me I ache for those children, but this was a good man, some might argue a saint in his own right. When I met Billy I told him he reminded me of this man, but I digress. This German Priest was a dear friend to my Native American Grandfather who was bussed in with the other Natives to work in the shops of Flint, MI., and looked after him and his family. So my Mother brought back these memories for me that day, and she celebrated like she celebrates my birthday as if it were hers, lol. She brought it to my attention that day, as I was living my Amercanized life, that I'm Native American. Which if I went to Arizona I'm sure there would be no argument, lol. Also it's not like I'm I'm not reminded like everyday when people say, "What Kind of name is that." I'm not judging them, I know it's an unusual name. All of this makes me think of that book" When I was Peurto Rican", when I'm older will I right a book called "When I was native American?" With her growing up that's how I was revered in the community or anywhere I walked into. For example I was given the title as Female Head Youth Dancer one year at a Pow Wow, which is highly revered. So I just got me thinking about Idenity and race. How experiences are much different when I'm standing next to a brother who looks more Scottish/English. As well I must think of his experience of being Native American being different than mine. I suggest to you to Read Sherman Alexies book "Ten Little Indians". He is one of todays best Native American Authors who I had the pleasure to hear speak and meet briefly. They are stories about different points of view and experiences of full blooded native americans to biracial people like myself. Anyways the short story below was inspired by this book and that man.
Picture-Aunt and Ma
Jose, The Price of Assimilation
Jose was sent to Ms. Foster for being different
He never really came back
He chose the wrong Daisy
So endend up with an Anna
They changed his name to Gregory
And he forever sat in the wrong seat
What did the name change matter
Spain was a long way from Arizona anyway
At the end of the day it was all just business
But they never really did find a cure for his savage ways
But alas no one could deny he was a cutie
And he crashed and burned as many times allowed him
Because he was mythic and it was expected of him
And he wished to come face to face with himself
Because there was no one left to call
But the mirror wouldn't tell him who he was
It just left him black and blue
All the same tomorrow was another day
And he'd get on his way of searching the day
but that would leave nothing
And there was truth in that mess he'd become
So he organized it the best he could
|
