Something Different

Well, if you know me and really take a closer look I have been sporting a new look recently.  I have been growing - well trying to grow a little goatee. Yeah,  yeah go ahead and laugh. If you know anything about First Nations men, facial hair is hard to come by.  It can be done and it usually falls from one extreme to another. Some sport facial hair and the hair itself is not all filled in. In fact there maybe 6 to 7 hairs per square centimeter (cm). Then it tends to grow longer and looks quite haggard. Almost what a patch of forest looks like after most of it has been burnt to the ground - a tree here and a tree there.  Then there are those, who may have a little more hair per square cm. and it closely resembles  a foo man chu look - you know the 'I know karate' feature. I'm one of the lucky Nish guys. Although it may not be a full scale goatee,  I still look quite admirable, in my own estimation. Now at this point some of  you are thinking, 'All those others facial hair attempts are not as admirable as yours?' Yes, that is exactly that I am saying. I've worked hard at what I achieved so far.

I heard somewhere years ago, that if you keep shaving all the time then the more fuller your facial hair grows in. Or is that something that as little kids we told each other, especially to our nemesis, Spidey. I don't know. But I recall as young, mischievous, always looking for action, boys growing up on our Rez we all decided it would be in our best interest to start shaving at an early age. We didn't realize that a Nish man couldn't grow a beard if his life counted on it.  So off we went to the store 'UP Front' one day to get some razors and shaving cream. We wanted to try something different for a change. Our usual routine consisted of  throwing small crab apples at all the old people who rented cottages along the water front and stayed there throughout the summer.  Anyways, the only money we had was to buy us each a pop - as a diversion, so that Spidey could crawl into action. Crawl he did.  We bought the pop and he stole  4 razors and 2 cans of shaving cream. The only razors back there were those steel blade ones you pop into the top and  used both sides.  We seen it on TV before, easy as pie. To make a long story short  all four of us guys started our career off shaving and ended it the same day. I don't know about the other guys but I  had at least 6to 8 nics on my cheeks and neck  with blood to prove it. So we ditched the evidence and made our way to the beach. Only to be stopped by the local cop to be questioned about stolen razors. We lied! The only thing that gave us away, besides the brightly coloured pieces of green leaves from a walnut tree dotting our faces, was Spidey. You see he had a reputation for breaking down when things got tight. The cop looked at him, didn't even say a word and Spidey broke out into his usual high pitched voice of a cry. BUSTED!

I have been sporting the goatee look at home, on my days off of work, for probably 5 weeks now just  to see how it would look. To be quite honest, I went back to my childhood rumor that if I shaved enough, maybe just maybe, I would have a decent looking crop of facial hair to wear on a daily basis. Yes, I wanted to try something different. Why, you ask? I don't really know. Maybe with age I want to try and look more distinguished. I just laughed out loud as I typed that line. I guess trying something different for me lets me expand my bubble of self confidence. It lets me see how I react if someone is really brazen enough to say, 'Hey Jake, that looks crazy.' That's ok. I'm a big enough boy to  take constructive criticism that are more or less taunts at my manhood. You know what, I really think my wife thinks it looks sexy!!! How do I know you wonder? Well I shaved it off one day and I think she pouted when she asked why I shaved. Oh yeah!
Who knows maybe I will start to shave my chest. Umm on second thought I have no chest hair to shave. Not even peach fuzz!

I want to challenge you today. Do something different. You know that thing that you have been wanting to do for a long time now but have not had the courage to try. For one reason or another you hold back due to peer pressure or the lack of self confidence. Trust me if you do it you will not regret it. You can reap a lot of unforeseen benefits. For example, I can now scratch the hair on my chin when thinking of something, and people gaze at me thinking, 'Wow he is so wise!' That is until I open my mouth to give an answer. Here is another one, I can actually feel the breeze, when it is strong enough, move the hairs on my chin. It is quite exhilarating. I now know now Data felt on Star Trek: First Contact when the Queen Borg blew on a patch of skin that she implanted on his cybernetic arm. He felt something for the very first time. He even got goose bumps. It was his EUREKA moment,  as well as mine.

Go ahead do something different. I'm sure you will enjoy it. Be a rebel.

Chi-Meegwetch

Baamaapii

See don't I look distinguished when I am thinking of something to say!

Seasons of Change

I went to the optometrist the other day..... almost sounds like the beginning of a bad joke.  I sat in 'the chair' and the doc began with the usual questions I know he repeats day in and day out. "Have you noticed a change in your eye sight?" "How are your contacts, glasses?" For a brief moment I had considered saying - nothing has changed at all. I was gonna lie but I knew he would find out the truth. So I answered, "I have noticed a change." Almost a dramatic one at that, which I didn't share with him.  He went through his exam,"What is better? A or B. This one or that one. First or Second." As I answered there was a periodic 'hmmm', 'ok'  - on the other side of his instruments. Kind of freaky really. After all was said and done, the doc looks at me and says, "There has been a significant change in your eye sight, especially up close."  My heart sank. My mind raced. My blood pressure rose. I felt faint.  At that moment he said that I would need some kind of progressive lenses.  In layman terms - bifocals. Ever see the point of the movie where everything seems to slow down and the person speaking sounds like an echo only in slow motion. Well that happened to me!   I asked, "Does that mean I have to wear old man glasses? No offense sir, it just I am not ready to wear glasses that have distinct lines on my eye wear!" *sigh* "Can I get a second opinion?" He looked surprised  and actually laughed at me. Really, what kind of etiquette is that?  "Do you perform laser surgery??"  I knew he didn't but I was grasping for anything that was a sign of hope. The only hope he had to offer me was a prescription called 'Progressive lens' - no  glasses with distinct lines that old men wear. I am only 46 yrs old. I don't need old man glasses, bring on the progressives!

Seasons of change. I still feel like I am in my 20's but to reluctantly admit  there are something I can no longer do. To brag a little; when I was in high school I was able to one step and grab the rim of a basketball net. Yes at regulation height. Today, I can barely reach half way up the mesh.;  I was able to run a 49 - 50 sec 400 meter sprint. Today I wouldn't even think of doing the 60 meter dash. Volleyball! I love volleyball. I was able to play 2 positions at once. There were things that I did that sent a WOW vibrating  through  the crowd. Things I did  made me want to take notes on myself! Sheesh even 10 years ago I could almost do that.  However, today its a totally different matter. All I have are memories.

Most recent is my back. I sent my back into almost violent spasms on a return trip with my  family from my home rez. It was a simple task of putting a 5 lb. bag of ice into our cooler.  That was mid- August. Today, a month later the lingering effect are still evident. Don't ask just believe me. My body is changing.

There are many things that are changing. It is a cycle of life we all will go through. I look outside and the trees in this part of Ontario are in the midst of change. The leaves on certain trees are changing colour and soon they will no longer bear the markings that distinguish one species from another. Yet, unlike us the trees will sprout a new clothing of leaves in 7-8 months time. I,  however,  am going to have to adapt to my changes. A better diet, less junk food,  a few more exercises. No let me rephrase that- I have to start exercising PERIOD. Perhaps even a better sleep pattern. Why adapt?  I want to see my children go through their seasonal; permanent changes. I want to rejoice in their accomplishments and cheer them on in their rough times; cry with them when they hurt and laugh with them when they don't.

I went to the optometrist the other day..... almost sounds like the beginning of a bad joke. The joke was on me. Not a bad one but one of reality. Seasons of change.  Just remember it is something we all go through. Each of us will handle it differently. As for my progressive lens, I have to laugh, because it was a few short years ago I laughed at my peers who had to get them. On final though it is a bad joke indeed!

Chi-Meegwetch

Baamaapii

Childhood Reflection

I was at the local library today, stealing the WIFI to play  game on my iPhone, when I suddenly recalled a childhood experience.

There we were with our hands pressed to the glass doors and our faces cupped in our hands..looking in. Looking for the first signs that someone was inside. The coast was clear,  with that we all slowly made our way into the library. The time frame was grade 3. It was our gang. Myself and four others - 2 of them were girls.  They hung out with us, because if they didn't, they would 'tell.'  To this day I often wonder what they would 'tell.' And who would they 'tell?' I guess that is what the scarey part was. That was Mikey, Bobby, Sarah and Lainie. The last two, they were the girls. They were kinda cool. So we let them in our little gang. Even though they threatened us that they were gonna, 'tell.'

As we walked into the library our initial reason was to get warm. Yet, deep down we knew there was more. It was a cold Fall day, the wind was blowing and there was a rain mixed with snow. That I remember. I looked at all those books. Books for both young and old. You know the ones that had pictures in them and the others that had none at all.
I really don't recall who said it first, could of even been me for that matter. The conversation of typical 8 yr olds went something like this. "Wow those books are way up there."  "One day we will be able to reach them." "Look how far I can reach up."  "I can reach higher that all of yous!"

Just then, the tag along showed up out of thin air. He always seemed to do that.  I'm sure there was that one individual who always hung around when you didn't want him to. Well, Spidey, as we called him because he seemed to have that spidey sense when we - the gang- got together to do something. For some reason when we got together it almost always ended up being mischievous, adventuresome and every so often with some police involvement. Spidey asked what we were doing, we told him nothing just getting warm. So he decided to stay. To our dismay.
Well Lainie, she was the catalyst to our many woes, said "Look!" With that she knocked a book from where it was perched to the floor. Not to be outdone by a girl, I knocked down 2 books from its shelf. With that she glared at me like I did something wrong. Not a word was spoken between all six of us - including Spidey. It seemed like hours yet it was only seconds. Spontaneously, everyone of started pulling books from the shelves. Starting from the lowest shelving to as high as we could reach - probably only the third of fourth shelf  up. Little people books, big people books. Everything our little hands could touch found itself on the floor. When we finished - all about a minute later - we found ourselves laughing with delight.  We looked around satisfied with our job, realizing what  we had ,we took off as fast as we could.  As we ran out of the library,  I recall Sarah saying, "Where is Spidey?"

We got back to our class room. No sooner did we sit down than our principal, Mr. Harrison came into our classroom.  He was a scarey old bugger. He had black framed glasses. he had gray hair on his sides and had a bald hair cut up the middle - as we called it. We called him Big Foot because he was one hairy guy.  He didn't look impressed. In fact, he was one angry white guy, that we later said.  He pointed his short stubby fingers at each of us. We were marched to the library, in single file and didn't dare step out of line. As we stood in the library, the scary principal, screeched, "WHO IS RESPONSIBLE FOR THIS" With military like training we all stared ahead, not looking for we knew what he was speaking about,  not uttering a single word of blame or admittance of guilt. With one stride, Big Foot zeroed  in on Spidey - there he is again showing up out of nowhere. We knew we were done for. Without the angry hairy white guy  uttering a word, Spidey began to cry. He wailed like he was being beat to death. He sobbed so hard that he was having a hard time catching his breath.  Still looking straight ahead, each of us mumbled, "wait till after school."  So, when he caught his breath, Spidey spilled the beans. He told Big Foot how he watched us come into the library and he followed us in. He pointed at Lainie and I saying we started it all. Then made up a lie, how we made him do this - masterpiece of a mess-  with us.

That was enough evidence that Big Foot needed. Still standing in line. Not really knowing what was next, Big Foot pulled out a huge leather strap. My first thought was, "Spidey is going to pay for this." Spidey's first reaction - a wailing and hard sobbing all over again. Each of held out our hands, and as brave as an 8 yr old could be I felt the hot sting of that leather weapon come down on my hands. I didn't  cry but looked Big Foot in the eye and smiled.
Did we get Spidey after school? NO. He caught the bus home that day. As the bus drove by, he smiled and stuck his tongue out at us.

About a week later, our class had library time. Walking into that library, the mess was cleaned up, each book placed in its proper Dewy Decimal place. I even walked in the aisle that I was proud to have rearranged. I looked for the librarian. When she wasn't looking. I took two books and put them in different areas of the library. YES, I was a rebel.

I wonder to this day if those books have ever been found.

Chi-Meegwetch

Baamaapii

How do I say......?

Another school year has started for my wonderful children at home. That means I am now back at work as  a counsellor along side a group of 14 teen boys who are under my care and guidance. That being said I am now scared! And now I find myself asking a few of the boys, "How do I say .....in Ojibway?"
I traveled home this summer to Bkewanong FN, also know as Walpole Island FN. It is nestled along the southern end of the St. Clair river in Southwestern Ontario. As you drive onto my beloved homeland from the mainland you will see a  park on the right side of the road. There you will find a beautiful black marbled monument elegantly landscaped. A scene, I am sure,  that National Geographic would be proud to have in its photo archives. On its wall is an inscription that reads, "This monument is dedicated to all children from Walpole Island who attended Residential Schools throughout Canada and the United States of America." However, what is chilling is that caption below it that says, "From inside those walls no one outside heard our cries : when we left no one heard our cries from within."   You can see a photo of this on my Facebook wall.
When I was growing up I heard my elders -  grandparents, great grandparents,  aunts and uncles and generations that have now passed on speak Ojibway constantly. From an early age I repeatedly asked for them to teach me. The last time I ever asked that was when my great grandfather told me rather harshly, "You don't need to learn it, it wont do you any good!"  Thinking about it now, I think that was the day I began to think that something was wrong with me because I was 'Indian'. It was the beginning of a 25-30 year old battle of accepting who I am. Let's face it - it started from my Ojibway speaking great grandfather; plus the integration into an off-reserve school at grade 5 and the teasing we took; getting into the teen years and listening and  to the stereo types of the drunk uneducated Indians. It is a good thing  that I decided in my childhood years that I would not allow alcohol to affect my children as it did me otherwise I may have been another one.
Thinking about it all makes my head spin. Makes me stop and wonder why I didn't ask my other great grandfather, or stand up for myself when I and others were teased relentlessly. Makes me wonder why it took so long to say enough is enough and to begin to accept myself as a person of First Nation heritage. I know the reason why - it was because of those very words inscribed on the walls of that monument. 'when we left no one heard our cries from within.' It was my father, and his father, my aunts and uncles, it were individuals whom I looked up to as a child and they themselves had faced, perhaps even still are facing the same 'crisis' I had faced. They, inadvertently passed it down to us - their children.  I feel sorry for them; my heart goes out to them.
I write this blog to day for a reason.  Those feelings of inadequacy I felt as a young child, a teen and an adult all came flooding back  yesterday when I asked a boy from my group, 'How to say 'Where are you from?' in Ojibway. He looked at me ans said, "You can't speak your language?" Not in a demeaning way but of surprise! Albeit, the feelings I once lived with and thought were gone hit me hard. How did I handle this  awkward moment? I smiled and said, "I wasn't blessed to have been able to learn our language as a child." Left it that.
Yet, it made me think who can I ask to teach me Ojibway?

Well until next time

Chi-Meegwetch

Baamaapii

Oh My!

Canada is a unique country. It is defined as a 'melting pot' when it comes to its identity. Take a walk in any major metropolitan and you will see a diverse culture. It is not uncommon  to see  4-5 people from different cultural identities 'breaking bread' together.  Yet, it is unfortunate that there are still communities in this beloved country of Canada that have an 'only us' mentality.Take a look at one community in particular -Dryden, Ontario.
 Here is the story in a nut shell: Native leader from an organization called Keewaytinook Okimakanak (KO) had approached the City of Dryden to establish a transitional highschool for Native youth.  The Native communities that KO represents are only accessible year round by air or an ice road during the winter months. The idea was to set up a school and housing facility to a recently closed public school in Dryden. As a result many teenaged youth whose only chance for a highschool education in a classroom setting would leave their homes, go to Dryden where they would both live and attend school. Their  school and residence would all be housed under one roof.   A public meeting was called to bring forth a proposed by law to re-zone the school for such accommodations. Public outcry was apparent. A petition with 600 plus names was presented to the City council opposing this idea. Residents who addressed the city council brought forth their concerns  'for the students' leaving their home to attend school 1000's of kms from their home.  Hearing their concerns as reasonable as they did sound could have been easily addressed to easy any concerns. Unfortunately,  the concerns that were presented were masks hiding the real issue - their fears, their prejudices.
I have a dream that one day a transitional highschool will be established in Dryden, On. so that Native youth will have an equal opportunity for a quality highschool education.
I really thought that this city  was moving forward instead is being held back by a percentage of it residents.
I leave you with a quote from a great man Martin Luther King Jr.:
"I have a dream that my four little children will one day live in a nation where they will not be judged by the color of their skin but by the content of their character."

Chi-Meegwetch

Baamaapii

Here is a link to the news article in the City's WEEKLY newspaper.

http://thedrydenobserver.ca/2012/05/ko-withdraws-from-pinewood-school-project/

Is It Worth It?

It's that time of the season again, for me. Allergies. I am sure many of you who read this - how many actually read my blogs? PLEASE leave me a comment or two- know how I am feeling at this moment.
There is a leaky faucet in the kitchen here at work. Every drip of water I hear hit the stainless steel sink, my nose seems to keep in corresponding rhythm. It is irritating. Then there is the itchy, watery eyes. My eyes are blood shot red and I am doing everything to keep from scratching them - all the time. Oh,  I forgot to mention the sneezing and slight headaches I get as well.
Relief, as little as it is, comes from little white, or pink pill. Then it makes me drowsy, and I sleep. Only to have the cycle repeat itself every 4 to 6 hours.
To me that is a sure sign that 'Spring has finally sprung.' I can look forward to a wonderful summer, a nice brown tan - as if I need one and countless nights camping at some provincial park, roughing it a 30 Ft. camper with A/C.  Most of all, time with my wife and kids. As summer approaches, do not forget your most prized possession - family. Take the time to spend time with them. Actually make it a priority. Trust me, you will be blessed in the process and the ones you love will benefit from it the most.
Here are a few pictures from my summer holidays.

Now, most adults would freak out if their kids started to paint on the camper, Thankfully, the artwork was a water based paint - the kind from kindergarten.

Aside, from the Iphone app that edited the picture if you look closely at my hair, What do you see? Hair clips from my girls. They decided to 'do my hair.' I had actually forgotten about the clips in my hair and was seen in public, with my girls, with these still on. One place was a grocery store, the other was at Wal-Mart.  Only after a friend of mine pointed these out, I then realized why many people had smiling at me. If, only I could of heard their conversation at supper time.

Yes, to me allergies remind me of better things to come.  Enjoy your summer everyone.

Chi-Meegwetch

Baamaapii

Silence Is Deadly; Speaking Is Healing

Pelican Fall First Nations High school - where I work as a counsellor had a special guest today, Eva Olsson. If you ever had the privilege of sitting at her feet and listening tell her story I count you as blessed. If you haven't then trust me, I highly recommend you do. The reason I say sitting at her feet, is that I felt like a little child; I felt vulnerable, captivated and horrified.  I had tears fill my eyes and stream down my cheeks, trying to keep a calm, cool, collected composure while I sat in a room full of teenagers.
Mrs. Olsson -a Holocaust Survivor -short of her 20th birthday, she and many other Hungarian Jews were shipped away in train boxcars..to hell on earth. With pain in her voice she spoke of her experiences while a prisoner, from her capture, the loss of her loved ones,  the appalling conditions, to her release. While sharing her experiences of what the power of hate can do, she stated  the importance of standing up to racism, bigotry and intolerance.  Many times throughout her presentation, with tears in her eyes she said she feels for the young people and  their parents and grand parents for having to go through the same sort of ordeal and how it must affect them today. I was touched by those word, deeply touched.
I was humbled with her presentation. She made me think of  times I have been so ungrateful of the things I had growing up. She pleaded with us to be thankful for family - all but one sister was taken from her. She pleaded with us to be thankful for the gift of education - that was taken away from her. She pleaded to not let circumstances take over our lives with silence. She said for 55 years she was silent and healing started the day she spoke about her circumstance...and is still healing.
In the end, I was deeply touched by the number of our teens who went  up to her to thank her, only to be hugged by her. I wanted to, yet I was afraid to. So I didn't  because I knew that when she would of hugged me I know for certain I would of cried like a baby. Why? That is for another day, another story.

You know, I've shared some things about my life with this blog. It is one thing to sit 'behind a keyboard' and let you in my life, but I know I need to share publicly if I need true healing to finish its course.

Chi-Meegwetch

Baamaapii

Here is a link to Mrs. Eva Olsson

http://www.evaolsson.ca/Main.aspx?ref=splash