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It’s the 10^th of July now and all the booming of fireworks being set off and voices of ahh, and wow are silent. The voice of racism isn’t and it’s still trying to spark and set off a big boom.

The flag is even racist but I do wonder if the flag knows this or does it even feel like it is?

Hmm?

Native people for most of the country’s history have had to struggle to be recognized. This still didn’t stop them from serving in the military and some with distinction. So, what do Indians think about the flag and patriotism?

I don’t know! I can only speak for myself.

It is true that we lost the wars for the right to live on the land. The land that was considered too good for the Indian since he didn’t farm. Nor raise cattle or cut timber for building projects. Neither did he look for the shiny yellow stuff called gold! A lust for it that drove people crazy.

We do have treaties that recognize the land rights, uhh somewhat.

It is true we were not a party to the founding of America nor did we fight for Independence from merry old stuffy England. We had no need for that since England was not our homeland. Nor was France or Spain.

Some natives did join the fight while others fought for the other side. Independence was misplaced idea to them as it pertained to the colonials.

With this being said let us look at where we are today.

This country whether it is right or wrong is still our country even more so when you think about it. We are native to this country whether you call it America or something else.  People were asked to name a country better than the United States, they couldn’t.

With all its’ problems between native people, colonists, and slaves:  it still is a better place to live. We do have certain inalienable rights endowed to us by our creator. I was educated by it and earned a living in it, and enjoy the freedom to travel in it.

I have made friends of different races or nationalities if you will. Served in the military. Write articles about the problems because of freedom of speech. I read different parts of history some good others really dark and terrible all because of the freedom of the press.

I can vote, marry any race whether it be red, black, yellow, or white. Providing she likes me enough and wants to marry me.

There are many things that are good about this country, along with bad ones too. the bad come from misunderstanding about what is right for you.

If natives thought about what might have been if other countries had won the wars where would we be? If the Nazis had won the war, would we be here?

Am I patriotic? Up to a point then it’s just about the fireworks. When I was growing up the fourth just meant for us firecracker fights, bottle rocket fights, and roman candle fights! I don’t throw any firecrackers anymore after I almost blew my fingers up!

Them suckers have faster burning fuses and I’m not as fast as I used to be nearly 50 years ago!

So go ahead and talk bad about what’s wrong with this country! You do have that right. As for me I will stand and salute my fellow vets who gave and still give. I love this country I was born in and certainly don’t know where I would go to find a better place?

The flag it’s pretty neat red stripes for the shedding of blood for freedom. The white for peace we enjoy because of our strength. The stars for the different states and different groups of people. The blue for the heavens and the creator who blesses this country.

As the Hag sang “if you don’t love it, leave it!”

                                                                          Amen

Time has marched on and boarding schools have too. Some are boarded up and no longer inhabitable. Memories are fading but not all is forgotten as some have written of their experiences. We need to read about it so we can grieve with them and never let it happen again.

As I wrote of before, my time wasn’t like what I’ve read and heard about. In the book of Judges, it says “and another generation arose who knew not God, nor yet the works he did for Israel.”

This verse tells us that the past is easily forgotten; even by those who lived it. They don’t pass it on or it becomes just tales told around the table every now and then. To some the stories become unbelievable and get pushed aside.

The people of Israel stopped listening after another generation grew up. Times change and peoples’ priorities do too. we lose so much with each generation that it is almost impossible to recapture those lost memories.

I have shared some and will do so now. I had good teachers who wanted for me to learn and do more but I was lazy. My memory of the residence halls was good and the dorm staff was friendly.

Aside from the creative writing class of the last time my English class turned out quite differently. So here is my story once again it is true just a hint of embellishment!

Thank God for dictionaries so I know what it means!

                                      English Class

     Omigosh, it’s my senior year and time for that dreaded English thesis!  Mrs. Ewing my English teacher tells me she will pass me if I can turn my thesis in. This critter called English hasn’t been my best or even remotely my favorite subject. It has really been quite a struggle for me to even get through grade school, let alone four years of high school. I’ve been pretty much a C minus student. On top of that maybe some generous teachers too.

      I wasted time daydreaming during class nouns, verbs, conjunctions, prepositions and something about a dangling part of an icicle. I had been told that there were only seven major parts of speech but they seemed to keep adding to this number.

     Here I am now needing this course to graduate. The others classes posed no problem there, but, only English stands in my way. She’s given the class three weeks to get it done and turned in. The best part about it is that we can go to the library during class time to do some research. Plus, the librarian is not bad to look at.

     The first week I mess around the hallways and make an appearance in the library every now and then. I visit my locker making it look like I’m busy with getting something out of it. I’ve had the same one for four years now and know the combination by heart. All of my books are still in it I don’t carry but a couple to class anyway. Mainly to look like I’m interested or need it to follow along. My bud Phillip kept some of his books in my locker too, he was too lazy to open his own. He graduated and has been gone for a year now. Still somethings don’t change I have someone else’s books in mine.

      You don’t think much about school until, you been out for some time. Even then it’s what if and why? I think now about why? Why didn’t I ever get a locker near some of the pretty girls in our school? All I got was one near a group of ugly guys.

      The following week and I showed up for class and Mrs. Ewing questions me, “where I’m at with my thesis?” I stammer out I’ve got it started and working really hard on it. The very next question is “what is it you’re writing about?” Now I’m stuck for an answer because I don’t have a topic in mind. Thinking quickly, I blurt out it’s on Abraham Lincoln!

      That satisfies her for the moment.  The moment of reckoning about graduation being only a couple of weeks away is fast approaching.

      In between my other classes I spend more time in the library reading up on old Abe. He’s been my hero since I first read about his life story. I grew up poor too, living in a log cabin, having a kerosene lamp for light. Yes, there were some parallels.

      I don’t think I’ll ever be a Lawyer or President certainly not, if I can’t get this thesis finished and turned in before graduation. 

      I’m down to a week and days but reading like crazy and trying to write something coherent. Something I still struggle with to this day. I tell people that English is my second language since I’m a Cherokee Indian. That’s my excuse.

     We’re practicing for graduation and I’m running back and forth to the library. My other classmates have finished and they’ve even typed theirs! I didn’t take typing class thought it was too much of a sissy class. Me being an athlete an all. Now I wish I had taken it. I’m too embarrassed to ask for help from anyone. I’m not sure if they would’ve helped me out anyway. I get some typing paper and print my thesis.

     I turn it in with a week to go and mighty relieved to be done with it too. Sooo, how did I do? Well, I did graduate.

    I went in a few days later to look at my grade and see how bad it had gotten marked up. Mrs. Ewing was in the classroom when I walked in. She turned and pointed to the stack on bottom shelf where all of our thesis’s lay.

     I found mine and it looked like it had been in a bad accident.  It seemed to have bled pretty badly with all the red marks on it. The grade though was there in all its glory a big beautiful D minus. I had passed Glory be a big red D minus!

     Mrs. Ewing did say that had I typed it, I’d would have gotten a better grade. She went on to tell me that I had done a good job on it.

     A better grade?  At that time all I worried about was passing and that D minus looked like an A to me!

     Writing is hard work especially when one struggles with punctuation. Then there is sentence structure.

     My wife once said “that most of my sentences, are run-on sentences just way too long.”

     I told her, well, it’s because I just have a lot to say!

Maybe I should have typed it. I might even have gotten a D plus.

My boarding school experience not too bad. No one to blame. It was what I made of it.

The Bible tells of the Jewish nation during the Babylonian captivity and their suffering.  We have a record of how they were taught about a different culture and yet they prospered in captivity awaiting their return to their homeland.

The Indian were in the same plight with their children removed from their homes. They were also forced to learn a strange language, customs.

Some lost their language which is the most important part in retaining your culture.  While others became bi-lingual thereby helping them navigate the complexities of language. This didn’t destroy culture but helped preserve it.

How others ask? Well think about it with no written language the most we would all have would be oral history. Writing it down helps immensely plus new ideas came come forth in the form of stories. A tribes’ history could be passed onto the next generation.

Still not all was good with the rapid changes forced upon them! There are pictures of young men with their haircut and wearing suits and the girls in dresses.

Clothes alone does not change a person nor does a haircut. In the pictures you can still distinguish the Indian features something clothes do not change! There were abuses and didn’t come to light until decades later. There were well meaning people but most times we only remember the bad ones.

My time at boarding school wasn’t the worst experience. It was nothing like that of the experiences of the first boarding schools and of those that were sent there.

I had a creative writing class which I blew off, coming in late, skipping class, and not doing nary a writing. At least nothing worthy of a Pulitzer Prize. One day with 15 minutes left my teacher said “that I could work off all my tardies and absences if I could write three stories each three pages long.” I thought why didn’t you say this before now I only have fifteen minutes! I got pencil and paper and wrote those three stories and turned them in with three minutes left. She looked up and asked” what are these?” I told her the three stories you asked for. She looked at them and asked me “where did you copy these from?”

I said” I didn’t copy them I wrote them.” She looked bewildered and asked me” what the word in one of the stories was?” I said” I know what it is, it is used right, right?” She looked up at me and again she asked “where did you get these?” I calmly told her “I wrote them right there at my desk”!

My desk sat right in front of hers! She looked at them and then proceeded to tear them up while saying “F” and threw them into the wastebasket!

I never did go back to her class guess she didn’t think I could write worth a darn!  That was my worst experience with boarding school. That and getting beat up once. Doesn’t pay to get drunk!

My experiences aren’t even close to what the kids dealt with and those that are still alive deal with to this day.

Why did I mention the Jews at the beginning you wonder?  I heard a song by Boney M entitled “by the rivers of Babylon.” It talks about the captivity and being forced to sing a song about Zion! How they couldn’t because they were in captivity and in a strange land. How could they sing about Zion and praise their Lord?”

It just felt like a good song that the children in the first boarding schools might have sung. Trauma I hear is hard to deal with and forgiveness is even harder. It is very hard for me to comprehend it. I write about it and hope it gives clarity to some.

It is the best I can do.

Time for deliverance and time for a new song. As it says in Ecclesiastes 3:1 to everything there is a season.

 Look up the song “By the rivers of Babylon.”

It will change your thinking I’m sure of it.

When we start going to school, we’re taught that learning is supposed to be fun. It can be and is but once we look deep into history it can be very disturbing.

The history of boarding schools for natives is not a rosy picture. They were used to take the “Indian out of the kids.” Through The Civilization Fund Act of 1819 schools were formed most through religious denominations.

History and people forget that some Indians were already educated like the Cherokee who had their own schools. They even developed their own written Language.

We know education alone didn’t help them but the resilience of who they were though did. True of all tribes.

History is full of stories and sometimes you run across one that opens up old wounds.

I met this woman in Canada while visiting one of the tribal reserves. This lady said “they didn’t call us by our name but by number.” She didn’t have a name just a number she said.

All tribes have stories and it is up to you and me to search and try to understand. While my own experience of boarding school is vastly different than theirs.

 I can on truly about speak for myself.

My experience is of the 1970’s boarding school era. It was my decision to go and I have better memories of my time there.

I had my haircut and wasn’t forced too. We were more assimilated and school was for learning. We had sports teams, choir groups just as other schools.

We did hear the song “Ten little Indians” during a basketball game. It kinda fit us we only had ten players and we were shorter than the team we were playing. Even their shortest player at 5”11” was taller than our center. Our tallest player was only 5”10”.

There was, the usual fights between this tribe and that one  but basically, we got along. There were some who had gone to other boarding schools during their grade school years and high school.

 In Oklahoma for me it was about Seneca, Concho, Jones Academy, Ft. Sill, Riverside and Chilocco.  There had been others during Indian territory days, statehood, and onto the present.

It was a different era I went through. While some carry scars of trauma from their experiences, there has been a little healing taken place.

We need to leave the past and move forward but always to speak out about injustice.

We didn’t learn about being Indian but recognized we existed but not alone.

Sequoyah High School still exists today. It has changed in format but to me it will always be the boarding school where I learned many things though not all of them good.

I thought long and hard about putting the following story on here but it shows what sometimes went on. It is a true story and the people are me and my friend PJ.

                                                   Paint the Night

San-quoyah, that was what the kids called Sequoyah, a take-off on Johnny Cash’s song about being stuck in Folsom prison. It wasn’t that bad though. I didn’t know about how life was at other B.I.A. boarding schools just the one near Tahlequah, Oklahoma. The students came from all over Oklahoma and some from other states. They represented many different tribes, foremost were the Five Civilized Tribes.

Philip, who I just called PJ became one of my closest friends. His tribe the Seminoles came from Florida.

We played on the high school Basketball team, ran Cross Country, and Track.

Teammates and as happens with high school kids drinking mates too. This meant after the games or races we’d would pool our money and make a Liquor run into the town of Tahlequah.

Too young to buy liquor, we had to find someone willing to get it for us.

You’d be surprised to find out that there are quite a few willing to do this.

There was one other thing we shared and that happened to be the paint sniffing we did.

More of sniffing then drinking, since, paint was cheaper than alcohol. A dollar a can back in the 70’s and you could get high for quite a while before, it ran out.

I was the designated runner for the alcohol and paint.

In our school paper “The Sequoyan” we had a section for some song dedications. The one they dedicated to me was a song entitled “The Pusher” by the group Steppenwolf.

The high school Golf course was also where our Cross-Country team ran and practiced. We’d run our, races there on Friday and the next day off to town I or we’d go to buy some paint. The Golf course became one, of the places where the sniffing took place.

We became pretty familiar with it and especially the 1^st hole. On race day We’d run down

The 1st hole fairway trying not to go too fast it being downhill on past the creek and across the 2^nd   fairway and up the 3^rd hole fairway. Next up was the 4^th hole fairway a long par 4 not that it mattered. We were running cross country not playing golf.

We’d race across the bridge over the creek that ran by the 4^th hole and the 5^th hole tee area and up the fairway towards the 6^th hole.

The faster runners had already separated from the pack by then and by now I wondered if I would be able to finish the race.

This one particular race I ran past the big Pecan tree and the water jug set out for the golfers. What or who should I see there under the shade but James and Dewey. They’re drinking water and standing under the tree in the shade. They were two of our teams’ better runners but not today!

I found out later that they had been out drinking the night before and weren’t feeling too well. 

Everyone else knew that you only drunk after the races not before!

There comes a time in the race, when the legs feel heavy and your lungs are hurting and you just want to quit. You feel like slowing down and stop running and walking the rest of the way. You’re thinking last place isn’t so bad.

You hear footsteps and labored breathing as a runner is coming up fast behind you. That’s when pride kicks in and you’re not about to let this guy beat you across the finish line! It’s only a hundred yards or so! No matter how tired and heavy the legs feel from somewhere comes that burst of energy to kick into a sprint. Always happens during all the races and once you see the finish line.

I made it and beat the guy across not too bad finishing in 23rd place. Well, you know, at least it wasn’t last place.

 It’s Saturday night we’re headed to the Golf course and the 1^st hole green. We walk downhill over the little bridge that crosses the creek. It’s pretty dark here and the big Pecan tree blocks the view down to the hole.

Out here we can sniff paint to our hearts content.

At first, we’re very watchful not wanting to get caught by campus security.

Even though it’s dark still the thought of doing something forbidden is still risky and too much to resist. Though we went out of our way to hide what we did you could tell who the sniffers were. You could see them with this glazed look in their eyes and smell it on them. The paint would be on their clothes and their lips. We even had colorful names for each other like Copperhead, Goldfinger and Silver Lips. We even had a particular brand we favored which was Krylon.

On some nights and during the daytime too if you’re around the outskirts of campus you can hear laughter of both boys and girls amid the sound of spray cans. The rattle of the marble signaling the can is almost empty. We punched holes in the can to get more of the Freon out and get even higher.

We never thought about all the brain cells we might be destroying. Some say over a million cells are destroyed from sniffing paint or glue. That’s not counting the damage done to the lungs.

I remember someone saying in our writer’s group that it doesn’t take much brain power to write. Must be true I destroyed millions of ‘em with my sniffing and was still able to write this story.

This night PJ has his bread bag on the bag is a picture of a Bunny Rabbit. I have a rag which is actually a piece torn from a bath towel.

PJ huffs on the bag. Sounds become louder and we laugh at nothing. Later the paint takes over and we don’t know anything about what’s going on.

This becomes apparent as I start walking back toward the dorm.

Suddenly everything goes dark.

I don’t even realize what’s happened to me.

I come to and find myself crawling on the ground. I’m all wet too. I flopped over on my back and see PJ standing by me looking down at me. He’s huffing still, and the bunny on the bag seem to grin down at me.

With each inhale and exhale the Bunny’s grin gets bigger then smaller.

The paint is making me hallucinate.

  PJ asks me, “what are you doing on the ground?”

It’s then I realize that I had fallen into the creek.  That’s the reason everything went black!

I get up soaking wet and PJ hands me the bag and I start hitting the bag too. At some point in time the paint is all gone and we’re starting to come down. The high lasts a little while afterwards. We start walking back uphill towards our dorm almost reluctantly.

My tennis shoes swishing from the wetness and I’m shivering from my wet clothes. All this makes it uncomfortable to walk and to think straight. We’re still slightly high as we try to dodge campus security back to our dorm room, in Unit 98.

 Stupid luck is with us tonight as we encounter just night and the cold.

Whatever the weather, sniffing became a habit that was hard to break. To this day I still can’t be around certain paints as I can feel the effects from the fumes. One thing I’m certain of is that I don’t miss getting high anymore. I also know now that drinking and sniffing paint didn’t help my running at all.

 I wondered what had happened to PJ after Sequoyah. I’d been out of the army about three years and I’m sitting in mom’s living room when I see this big car pull up. I stepped out onto the porch just as the driver got out of the car. Out came this big guy in a blue suit. I looked and

thought no it can’t be! Yep, it’s PJ in a suit and he’s fat to boot! You can say that and not realize you’re, fat too.

We caught up some on what we had been doing since school. I found out he was on the tribal council for the Florida Seminoles. He was in Oklahoma to settle some of their tribal claims.

  All too soon he was gone Today I wonder where, what and how he is?

 You also wonder sometimes what might have been.

 Friends and memories are just a thought away. I cherish the best but I also don’t forget the rest.

Too late you just go on and be thankful for what you have now.

The schools tried to change the Indian but only educated him in a different way. They reinforced who they were and some became leaders. Pain comes but dealing with it changes you.

                                                                          Thank You Lord.

Have you ever wondered what happens when life ends? I’m sure you have and believe this or that. There are so many different beliefs or if you prefer religions out there today.

Here is the rub what do Indians of India believe? I may step on some sacred cows here but what the heck! Oh, cows yea the Hindus believe they are sacred and yet people are starving.  Just as with the many cows wandering around they have as many gods.

The Buddhist are told once you reach enlightenment you’ve attained everything.  Can one really reach such a point? What is enlightenment?

Is it reached in death: reincarnation into nirvana?

Surely some like the Mormons or Latter-day-Saints teach that your own righteousness makes you worthy enough to populate your own planet in the afterlife. You become a god maker.

Some Muslim preach that dying for Allah means you get to have some 79 or something like that virgins as gifts from him? Begs the questions where are they going to come from and how old will they be?

How about Christians? I know that a belief in Christ Jesus means eternal life through his death, burial and resurrection. A belief that we are sinners and in need of a savior.

Indians, also called native Americans -First peoples, natives, or indigenous are separate groups and have their own beliefs too. Now exactly what do we, they believe?

They believe in the great spirit. They believe in doing sweats to purify the spirit as well as cleanse the body and mind.

They have healing ceremonies. And some even are keepers of sacred things. Like fire, the drum, the mountains and trees.

I heard one say that its spiritual and doesn’t matter which race or color you are.

Indians have their own church the Native American Church. Peyote is used to enhance the spiritual experience. As with all things they say that it is open to anyone who wants to join.

Well, there is the teaching though I’m not sure where it came from. The story or belief in the happy hunting ground. Why a hunting ground if we are spirits, do, we hunger? Can one kill a spirit bear or buffalo and what would it taste like?

One would certainly hope that its’ not all hunted out for spirit fur or for spirit housing or other things. Surely no spirit tribal casinos there?

There is the belief that we came from under the earth. Hmm the bible does say that God formed man from the dirt?

When I was growing up, we played in the dirt and got it all over us. Our parents especially mom scolded us sometimes harshly for getting dirty and muddy!  Come to think about it weren’t we just playing with parts of our DNA?  You think maybe?

Who knows?

Do you know where you will go?

If as people who are spiritual as the firekeeper said don’t it make you wonder about the spiritual hereafter?

April is known as the rainy month as the saying goes “April showers bring May flowers.”

It also has April Fools’ day and sometimes it does fool us even when things have turned green. Just as you think no more freezing weather that’s when the old man from the north blows in.

He brings with him cold air and occasionally ice and snow.

Like the other night at church as one person said “did you see the snow it was just white?” My brow furrowed as I asked the question “white huh, what color was it supposed to be?”

Ok, so I can be a smart-alex at times.

No, it’s not misspelled!

I was searching through the history of my tribe when I came across a government program known as “The Federal Relocation Act.” It was used to relocate Indians off the reservations to cities. With promises of jobs and places to live. Its’ purpose was to help (or maybe better force) the Indian to assimilate into white society. It didn’t quite work out like they thought it would.

It really didn’t work out well as many of those that went became homeless, alcoholics, and impoverished. A whole culture was changed not for the good. Yet some did survive but most went home.

I use white society because that was the terms used in those days. It is true color was an issue and most of society saw the Indian on tv a raiding, a scalping, and a raping. It wasn’t all that unusual to find prejudice and work harder to find.

Again, we see parallels with other races of color and their fight for rights to be who they are.

I watched a show with Denzel Washington about the struggle in South Africa for their rights. In one scene he was in court and the judge asked him “why he called himself black when he was more brown than black? To which Denzel’s character replied well why do you say you’re white when you’re more pink than white?”

It was true he did look more pink.

I told my wife that I had used a line in story of an Indian coming out onto the street and seeing all the people passing by. He saw different colors some black, brown, greenish tinted ones, and some pink yes pink not all white people are just white!

You have to meet others from Africa to see and a variation in color we call black..

These days the news outlets make a great deal of saying that the government now is represented by some people of color. Why is it that there seems to be only black and brown are those we consider of color?

In grade school we had crayons that had at that time maybe 12 colors and white was one of them.

I told people this story about my sister buying a television set for the family back in the 60’s. it was the first color television I had ever watched and frankly the only one in the neighborhood

I’m not bragging but not everybody sees the same things in life. In this instance this television had two colors. Uhuh! Black and white! You see that is and was at that time color television.

Today I live in an American society with all its faults and history. I live because I was born here.

Those natives, Indians that chose to go what is considered the white mans’ way were called “Apple Toms!” A play on “Uncle Tom.”

“Red on the inside White on the outside.”

How about that I’m red on the outside white inside and I do sometimes get the blues so I do become red, white and blue!

I see color too because to be color blind is as my brother in law Delmer used to say “that’s just adumb.” Those who say this never see the green grass, the blue skies, the rainbow of colors, or pink!

 Hah! So what is color? Glory be!

What color is the Indian?

These days New York State and the city are in the news not good news now mind you. It has many problems such as crime, overcrowding, politicians, rundown buildings and many other things.

The story of this place is famous for the price that was paid to the tribe that lived there before there was a New York. The story goes that for a few trinkets and beads the Lenape Indians sold it to the Dutch. All this added up to about a deal valued at $24.00 dollars in good old American terms. The value was because as most people know is that it was unimproved land. Real estate is worth more if it has improvements like denuding the land of trees, and putting up modern trees like telephone poles and stringing wire.

Here is a deal I believe is worth looking at. Was this a rental agreement between the Dutch and the Indians? With New York is in debt could they afford the rent now? I wonder who holds the note for the amount it currently owes? I don’t think it’s the Indians and why would they want it back?

 I wouldn’t give $24.00 for it.

Well, I might but they would have to do away with the so, called improvements to it. That would include tearing down the buildings and replacing  them with trees. Tearing up sidewalks and asphalt and replanting grass. Unpolluting the rivers and filling in all those subway tunnels they have dug. Not to mean those miles of rails and all those rail cars that would rust away.

That paints a picture of a very unsightly mess.

Progress they call it!

Where would they put all that trash? On some other Indian land? Maybe ship it to Africa?

I don’t think the EPA would help the Indians out with all that cleanup. Then again, we didn’t make the mess.

I do have to admit as civilized tribal, indigenous, first peoples, and so on, we are prone to help pollute and tear up the country too. At least we only build a few small Casino’s.

Just a few at a time though. Right?

We have built community buildings too along with head start schools for the kids. The grownups got ballfields and tribal housing. Although now some houses have seen better times and the yards have a few junk cars in them. We won’t sell the cars because we plan on fixing ‘em up somewhere in the near future. In the mean time they gather dust and getting rustier every day.

Dang I almost forgot about those big tribal headquarters offices. That’s where the important people live and work. Where they drive to work in their fossil fuel burning luxury cars. I’m not sure if there aren’t any of those gas guzzling, Jeep Cherokee’s. Who knows?

So, is it worth it? I guess it depends on what you treasure or value. What does your heart say? Is it worth it?

Would you really want it back now?

I’ve been watching the goings on for over a year now of the pandemic, peaceful demonstrations and peaceful rioting, voting fraud, voting rights, police shootings, reporting, good and bad etc, etc..

This country seems to be going around in circles chasing its’ own tail because of minorities and very loud voices!

So, with that said let us look at a little bit of history.

The history of two minorities, that highlights the disparities, and the reasons for it.

The Civil War raged from 1861-1865 and three years later the blacks were given citizenship through the 14^th amendment in 1868.

The Indian on the other hand wasn’t granted citizenship until the 1924 Indian Citizenship Act signed by then President Calvin Coolidge.

The reason for the lag time of 56 years for the Indian was that America and the Indians were still fighting. Up until the 1890’s. The Indian wars were fought over land rights and the freedom to live on it.

Through the years the Indian had suffered through bloody battles, massacres, court fights and forced removals. One can argue about massacres but look at why they happened. 

Once tribes were subdued and put on land of the governments choosing all was good.

For America at least but not for the Indian.

 It wasn’t until much later that the original inhabitants were brought into this great thing called America!  With the citizenship came resentment, and prejudice against the savage redskin.

Animosities die hard, sometimes they keep perpetuating themselves.

As with the blacks the Indian faced the same  restrictions on voting rights. Interestingly enough the last state to give the Indian their voting rights was Utah in 1962. It was also the first state to give women the right to vote.

In 1962 this author was seven years old and just starting his education. It is a continual thing education and a lot of anger and soul searching.  Anger? Yes, that too!

This week my wife and I watched the PBS American Experience series entitled “WE SHALL REMAIN: America through native eyes.” The story of the Indian and the white man. It could be entitled “A hunger for occupied land.”

I’ve also watched the battle over Georgia’s voting laws. Why you might ask? I’m interested in politics and watching the state where the troubles and the removal of the Cherokee’s started. Interesting stuff.

History isn’t pretty at times but it is there and it did happen that we can be sure of. The stories and who tells them is another story.

At times I get upset when I think about it. Though it has happened we must not let it stop us as a people from moving on and growing.

If we hold anger in and let it fester and hold grudges it stops us from enjoying life. We can always find an excuse or people to blame when things don’t go your way.

That bottle of despair we have drunk from is our curse. The one I wasn’t forced to drink from but took of freely at times. The blame resides on me no one else.

As for the movie I still remain alive and well and enjoying life!

There’s more to say but as with all things each person has to think and look for themselves. I leave you with these two thoughts. “How Far Have We Come?’’ “How Much better are we at living with one another?”

Remember the Bill Clinton defense “it all depends on what you mean by the word—.”

Today words are thrown around and some don’t even understand their usage. American English has a lot of words and new ones are added when they become common place.

Like ginormous really?

When big or bigger even biggest work ok.  I know you’re asking what does this have to do with us ndn’s well let me inform you.

Here’s my story of the word (yo-nag) and how it came to be.

Way back yonder that is a word too.

There were these two Cherokee friends.  Ok I have to use that word too. Lets’ give them names to make the story flow better. Uh, maybe Hawk and Crow. 

Well, they hadn’t seen each other in quite a while and Crow decided to stop by and visit his old friend Hawk. He found him outside splitting some wood. Hawk greeted his friend Crow and they stood outside talking and sharing old stories about friend and relatives. They joked and laughed about their own foolishness and mishaps in life. How they had come to this time and place.  

As they talked, Crow looked at Hawk and asked the universal question “you married?” Crow answered with a no while Hawk said “yes.” Looking at the ground in embarrassment time stretched out as if the words had been forgotten. Finally, Crow asked so how is this marriage thing working for you Hawk?

Well, Hawk started it’s ok, at times it can be frustrating and at times makes you wanna run off.

Crow arched his eyebrows as he asked “is littlefeather that hard on you?” Hawk answer of no, I didn’t marry her was met with another raised eyebrow from Crow?

Crow then asked the next question if not her then is it Birdie? Hawk shook his head no. Crow said “surely not that Willow girl?” Hawk answered him with no it’s, it’s not anybody you would know.  Curiosity building up in him Crow asked if not them then who?

Her name is Maude she’s a white woman, Hawk sheepishly replied.

Crows’ eyes widened in surprise and said “Really a white woman?”

Before he could ask another question the door of the little cabin opened and out stepped Hawks’ wife. She looked around for Hawk and saw him at the woodpile. He was talking with Crow who she didn’t know nor even met.

She stood there glaring at them or maybe just one of ‘em.  The next words extinguished the good natured, fellowship Hawk and Crow had been enjoying. What are you doing talking to that good for nothing, no account, ndn? You know he just comes around when he needs something. Why Crow thought she don’t know me, then again maybe we ndn’s just all look alike?

Crow looked at Hawk sideways and said in a low voice “your nag?” it obviously wasn’t lot low enough as she spluttered what, what, did he call me a “your nag!”

Hawk quick wits took over and his response was “uh, uh, no honey what he said was yo-nag.” Yes yo-nag” That’s it!  It’s the Cherokee word for white woman.

Well! She hummphed! As she went stomping back inside. It was time for Crow to leave. After a few minutes both embarrassed by the exchange and nothing more to say nodded to each other as they turned away.

Saying as they separated (donadagohv’i) which means “let’s see each other again.”

Quick thinking had saved this marriage.

This little story is about word usage and it is fictional.  We ndn’s and other races are our own worst enemies in making up stories and the words we use.  Then again as Bill Clinton said “it all depends on what you mean by the word____.”

What is the word for today Cancel? Racist? Suppression? Aggravation? Neanderthal?

Some may be offended by the characterizations in this afore mentioned story I understand that. These thoughts were and are actually still here today. I live with them day to day but those also were the times we lived through. No one is perfect! Those who show us our mistakes, deeds, sins of the past must be, and have to be, better than us!

Jesus said to the men who brought the women caught in adultery in the very act. “Let he who is without sin cast the first stone!”

Do you know who cast the first stone?

I know I certainly can’t unless, you can say “it all depends on what you mean by the words____,

____,____,__________________________.”

Oh, come on, don’t be such a nag!

  

I hear people speak with a certain amount of pride for a family member who is this or that kind of engineer.

They have civil engineers, chemical, mechanical, industrial, and petroleum engineers…. Once in a while you hear someone can say they have one who is a train engineer!

All I could say was that I had been a combat engineer in the army. Which is just a fancy way of saying that I was a glorified ditch digger!

This really got me to thinking what do we as Ndns’ or Injins or whatever, have that others don’t have?  And do we have more of them?

It was quite an exhausting search. A lot of time spent pondering on this conundrum.

Good word huh?

I finally found what I believe is something that others don’t have. A great many things we can see and say for sure and with a certain amount of humility and a smattering of pride!

Of course!

Yes siree, Bob!

The one thing us natives have and more of them is…That’s right yep you got it…we have a lot of Injin-ears!