A powerful memory just surfaced for me after reading this post. When I was in elementary school in a very small rural school east of Toppenish WA, on the Yakama Res., there was a boy in my class who really wasn’t a nice boy—I understand better now why that might have been, but back then, most of us just avoided him because he was so unpredictable and volatile. One day, our class had a celebration of some kind, can’t remember the context, but it was a day unlike other days. When it was this kid’s turn to share, the teacher called him in (he was out in the restroom changing). He was dressed in the full regalia of his tribe. He danced one of his family’s traditional Native dances to some powerful drum and choral rhythms that were recorded. It was among the coolest things I had ever seen up to that point in my life. He presented himself in a way none of us had seen from him prior—he walked and danced with a sense of dignity and deep pride. I remember the energy that emanated from him—he was totally focused and absorbed into his dance. We saw that kid differently from that point on. And he changed as well—we didn’t avoid him like we used to, and he was less volatile.
We have lost so much by not understanding the lessons that could have been learned from Native Elders and traditions.
Great poem. I was also very impressed by the memoir about your mother and wrote a review in an online magazin called CulturMag: https://culturmag.de/?s=Sherman+Alexie. It is, of course, in German ...:-). Best regards from Lisette
I love this so much! Thank you for the pictures! I would have been friends with Big Mom for sure! Yes, dance the dance! My favorite pow wow to attend was New Year's on Crow Rez that was held in a small community center with folding chairs. It was probably the purest one I've attended where ppl wore their finest day clothes and then put on moccasins and a shawl (women) or donned arm bands over pressed Sunday shirts and put on the tall black hats, some with an eagle feather, some with beaded hatbands...but all in low shuffles and light hearts made their way around and around, smiling and praying.
I am now five years past the age when you died. I know I won’t die like you did. I have years to go to catch up to my father’s age when he died. I don’t want to died like he did.
There are many days I think about this. Days when I am sad, lonely, missing my mother and father. Days when things are going so well, I want to call my parents or send them a message and picture to tell them, “Your grandson bought his first car! He is so excited!” I know they are around all the time, their presence as angels, guiding us through everything.
Just reread Amusements from Lone Ranger & Tonto and this is a polar opposite tone. No, more of an antidote. Both rip and shred, but this also serves up an effective balm.
Memories - they mean so much
tears fill my eyes
Lovely. RIP to your father. Remember mine dying last year? June 2 was a whole YEAR ago. Wild. Beautiful poem.
A powerful memory just surfaced for me after reading this post. When I was in elementary school in a very small rural school east of Toppenish WA, on the Yakama Res., there was a boy in my class who really wasn’t a nice boy—I understand better now why that might have been, but back then, most of us just avoided him because he was so unpredictable and volatile. One day, our class had a celebration of some kind, can’t remember the context, but it was a day unlike other days. When it was this kid’s turn to share, the teacher called him in (he was out in the restroom changing). He was dressed in the full regalia of his tribe. He danced one of his family’s traditional Native dances to some powerful drum and choral rhythms that were recorded. It was among the coolest things I had ever seen up to that point in my life. He presented himself in a way none of us had seen from him prior—he walked and danced with a sense of dignity and deep pride. I remember the energy that emanated from him—he was totally focused and absorbed into his dance. We saw that kid differently from that point on. And he changed as well—we didn’t avoid him like we used to, and he was less volatile.
We have lost so much by not understanding the lessons that could have been learned from Native Elders and traditions.
Lovely and loving
Thank you, Robyn.
Brilliant!
Thanks, Lynne.
Dang Jr. that regalia is so majestic. I hope it finds its way back to the circle. It will when it’s ready.
We'll get Bo out there, too!
All he needs is a breach clothe & a tomahawk
Hahahaha
Great poem. I was also very impressed by the memoir about your mother and wrote a review in an online magazin called CulturMag: https://culturmag.de/?s=Sherman+Alexie. It is, of course, in German ...:-). Best regards from Lisette
Consider coming to the Salmon Ceremony this Thursday in Kettle Falls.
Marvelous writing, wonderful memories.
I see your face in their faces. You do such honor to them all with your poetry and stories. Thank you for reminding me to dance, even as I get older.
That's beautiful.
I love this so much! Thank you for the pictures! I would have been friends with Big Mom for sure! Yes, dance the dance! My favorite pow wow to attend was New Year's on Crow Rez that was held in a small community center with folding chairs. It was probably the purest one I've attended where ppl wore their finest day clothes and then put on moccasins and a shawl (women) or donned arm bands over pressed Sunday shirts and put on the tall black hats, some with an eagle feather, some with beaded hatbands...but all in low shuffles and light hearts made their way around and around, smiling and praying.
Thanks for sharing the photos of your parents. They are beautiful. LIke you. They would be (or are) very proud of you.
“In five years, I'll be the same
age as you when you died.”
I am now five years past the age when you died. I know I won’t die like you did. I have years to go to catch up to my father’s age when he died. I don’t want to died like he did.
There are many days I think about this. Days when I am sad, lonely, missing my mother and father. Days when things are going so well, I want to call my parents or send them a message and picture to tell them, “Your grandson bought his first car! He is so excited!” I know they are around all the time, their presence as angels, guiding us through everything.
Thank you for this wonderful Father’s Day gift. 💜
Just reread Amusements from Lone Ranger & Tonto and this is a polar opposite tone. No, more of an antidote. Both rip and shred, but this also serves up an effective balm.