Tuesday, June 5, 2012

One Little, Two Little, Three Little Cherokees

I can, alas, boast no claim to any Native heritage beyond the fact that I am married to a man who has Cherokee and Blackfoot blood running through his veins. If matrimonial ties are deeper than blood, then good. I can claim Native-ness. But if they are just some sort of spiritual bond instead, well, I'm outta luck. But the fact I am married to David automatically makes our offspring partakers of that fascinating heritage.

And so, this past weekend we took the boys to a pow-wow and they were beyond delighted with discovering so many amazing things about their ancestors. The colors, the rituals, the honor, the music that seemed to swell out of the very earth itself, the dancing in the dusk beneath a sky clearing of storm clouds.

We have taken the boys to this pow wow before, but as they were all babies at the time they had no recollection of past visits. We have not gone for the past three years. I joked with David that every time we go to the pow wow, I am pregnant. It just seems to work out that way.

We met up with some friends there and had a pleasant time enjoying their company. Steward Blake offered to buy all the children a face painting session but the only one who took him up on the offer was David, who had his hand painted with a dragon. In this picture, you can see how very cautious he was of the painted hand. He held that hand out in perfect proper flatness so he would not damage the paint job.

Blake and Becky share a kiss before the storm.

With the inevitable rain, we left the grounds for a little while to take shelter in the pavilion of a nearby park.

The torrential downpour did not last long, however, and when the rain lightened and finally ceased we ventured out and the boys ran and played and laughed, having their own adventures.

We headed back to the pow wow in the evening and were just in time for the Grand Entrance. As we stood and watched the dancers, carrying flags, solemn and quiet, I could not help but blink back tears that started furiously to my eyes.
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It amazes me how these people can be so kind, so welcoming, so willing to share with outsiders their stories. The way the American government has treated the Natives over the last several hundred years is appalling. These people lived their own quiet lives in their own ways. They worshipped God in their own way; they had their own culture, their own language.

Bit by bit they were eliminated and forced into tiny reservations. Their children were taken and forced from an early age to adopt "Christian" names and were educated according to government standards. Those that did not comply were killed, or assimilated into white culture (like many of the Cherokee) and lived as white people. These circumstances were not random or contained - it was the systematic killing of a culture by our government. Even today, this still goes on. Just a few months ago I read about a native girl who was suspended from school after talking in her own language to a friend instead of using English. And yet! The remnant still carries on. They survive. They share with us. 

I am proud my boys can claim ties to this culture. I want them to grow up to understand the truth about what happened. It is not all "cowboys and Indians". There is so much more to it than that, and a deeper truth beneath the perverted Hollywoodization of the Native culture.

David was also very proud when David and Malachi, unable to sit still any longer, jumped up and danced their way into the circle.

Judah, always shy, hung back. But maybe next year! ;)



  1. Thank you for such a beautiful post. I too am always saddened by the plight of Native Americans. The book "Life of Black Hawk, or Ma-ka-tai-me-she-kia-kiak",dictated by himself is beautiful as well as heart breaking. Black Hawk was a Sauk who lived in Illinois before the coming of the white men. He tells about his life and the gradual encroachment. At one point he travels to Washington to meet with the President (who barely talked with him) and as he is traveling through Indiana and Ohio and on to D.C. he keeps saying,"Your country is so beautiful and prosperous, why do you want our country?" (not a direct quote). Anyway, being also from Illinois it was fascinating to read about it from the point of view of a true native.

  2. I grew up within a brief drive of probably half a dozen different reservations. Went to school with a lot of natives, our church was involved with several of their churches on occasion. One thing I remember thinking was how the WRONGS kept piling up. Not only were their ancestors killed, abused, stolen from, etc, but in many ways, the subjugation is continued. Today they're STILL controlled by the government. Subsidies (not sure if that is the right word. payments made to them) keep them dependent, their children are enrolled in every government program (education, vaccination, etc) SO many fall into alcoholism, drugs and poverty. Aside from working at the casino there are often few jobs. There are exceptions of course, but I long to see them rise up in victory over some of the things that keep the tribes bound in many ways.

  3. My grandfather's mother was Blackfoot, but at some point, she apparently wound up "Americanized". The only information I have on her is her maiden surname, Russell. Don't know how her family adopted this name, whether it was chosen or forced on them in an Indian School. Family didn't ever talk about these things back then. Like it was a dirty secret to have this background.

    My son is Chippewa/Ojibwa, and now that he's 30, he's only just begun to acquire an interest in his father's culture. I've been shoving it down his throat his entire life, and he resented it. Guess he just needed to grow up a little to appreciate it.

  4. I grew up on the Reservation a lifetime ago it seems, and I am glad you can see both sides of an ever spinning coin.

    In my old age I have gone back to my roots and am now recreating the clothing that was worn precontact, complete with full documentation on my blog.

    It is a challenge to root about in museums and such to find the remnants of clothing that were confiscated and often altered to be used as "costumes" by the people who took them.

    But I do it because I cannot do anything else, a voice keeps whispering in my ear to do so, and I comply.

    I have dressed as 1750-1830 for Fur Trade Events now for several years as my Husband has a Kitchen under canvas, but now we are going to more and more powwows and I love it, I actually get to dance the dresses I create!

    Thank you for the great post!

    Stitching Up History

  5. It is something I'm always only learning from afar, here in Central Europe, joy and sadness mixed up. We grew up with stories of Native Americans, first made-up, but soon the real stories. There's an old interest in Native Americans going on among Czech people - starting with Alberto Vojtěch Frič, I think. (In his case, it concerns mostly South America, though.)
    I got to travel to the USA, but I did not get to meet any Natives - not knowingly, anyway. I got to meet people from Peru and Venezuela. But USA?

    Thank you for sharing with us.

  6. Looks like you guys had fun! Joshua is 1/8 Cherokee and I have some small number (like 1/32 I think?) of some kind of Native, but I can't remember what. I really should be involving our kids in things like this so they know their history. Yet another parenting thing I have failed. :)


Thank you for your lovely thoughts!