I just finished reading an article on tsn.ca about the Baltimore Ravens signing their franchise QB Joe Flaco to a new multi year, multi million dollar contract. It is - ready for this? you better sit down- worth $120.6 million over six years. He is now the highest paid NFL player in history.
Now I don't want to judge the man but it's hard to do when I read: to quote in his own words, "It's not really about the money, it's about the respect." REALLY! My question is then, "Well Joe, if it's not about the money then why even ask for that much money?" Think of it people - if that money is divided up over 6 years that is $20,100,000 A YEAR! That is $1,256,250.00 per game in a 16 game season.
Yes I am a littler worked up over this. Call me jealous if you wish but I am not. No man is worth over a million dollars for an hour of his time on field. I guess what gets me is his "not money but respect" issue. Yes, his on field performance and the record that the team has had since he turned pro is impressive. This to me still has to do with the money. Always has and always will. I hope that he does more with his earnings than just let it build interest in the bank. Respect to me will be earned when he contributes back to his community, how he handles himself in the spotlight on and off the field.
OK I'm finished Yes, he is a great athlete - a quarterback. Yes, I'm a Ravens fan and have been for many years now. Maybe he can pass a few bucks over this way so I can buy a few more Tim Horton's coffee and have the odds in my favour of winning something.
Until next time,
Chi-Meegwetch
Baamapii
Monday, 4 March 2013
Thursday, 7 February 2013
Look at the Whole Picture!!
Our gang was playing outside on a cold winters day. We were sort of daring each other to place our tongue piece of frozen steel pipe. The kind that playground equipment was made of. You see all five of us got together and said, "Let's pretend that we are sticking our tongues on the pole." In our minds, we all knew without verbalizing it that our nemesis Spidey would soon show up. Sure enough he showed and wanted to try. We showed him, indirectly, that we placed our tongues on the cold frozen pipe and pretended to pull them off. With very little prompting Spidey stuck out his tongue out. All eyes riveted on the spectacle that was about to unfold and he placed his tongue on the pole. There was a delight in his eyes that he did what we all did -sort of. The delight soon turned to a horrifying squeal when he looked at us and said, "My tongue ith thuck. My tongue ith thuck." By then we were all laughing because we knew he wasn't going anywhere. At that moment the bell rang. Recess was over and all of us, except for Spidey, ran for the door.
I have been thinking about the Idle No More (INM) Movement that has catapulted into the National spot light, here in Canada, since Nov '12 to the present. As I read about the events that had unfolded and even hear about it from both side of the table I can't help but wonder where this will lead. People all over are getting mad at someone. Whites, well non-Aboriginals getting mad that the Indians, Indians are getting made at each other, Indians getting mad at the government. At first the media were loving us now they are getting mad at us. What really gets me is that people are getting mad at us Indians for INM happenings and they really have no clue as to why they are. They base their facts on a media that likes to turn things around for its own political agenda. Indians are getting mad at each other because of the same scenario - they have not a clue as to what really is going on!
Everyone who does not understand what this all means are looking at this from a one sided perspective.
What they are really doing is sticking their tongues on that frozen piece of pipe and realizing that they are stuck. Why? Because they chose not to look at things carefully and do a little research for themselves. Now, I know that I only get a very few people who read this blog of mine. That is okaay because I like to think I write this for my own self. If you do come across this and read it, please by all means do yourself a favour and start doing your own research as to why the INM movement began in the first place. Educate yourself! See for yourself how your neighbours, co-workers, friends, can be lured by what they hear and what they thing and by the media. Let's face it, our own uneducated opinions and those of others, particularly the media can take something that is supposed to be a good thing and turn it around to be a bad thing. What power uneducated biased opinions have.
I guess it is a human triggering mechanism that what one does not understand one will fear. It would be a little overwhelming to see 100's of Native people dressed in their regalia dancing to the singing and beating drums in a public place. It would be a little unnerving and even irritable to be held up on a major highway as 100's of Native people show their support for each other, in protest. If only, a few of those people who are non-Aboriginal would educated themselves, maybe just maybe they would see what the fuss is all about. And they would not find their tongue stuck to that frozen pipe.
In case you are wondering what happened to Spidey. He was discovered after 10-15 minutes when his teacher realized he had not returned from recess. He never did tell what actually happened. He knew better.
Until next time,
Chi-Meegwetch
and
Baamaapii
Here are 2 links to get you started in your education:
http://indigenousnationhood.blogspot.ca/2013/01/what-is-idle-no-more-movement-really.html
http://wabkinew.ca/idle-indian-thing/
I have been thinking about the Idle No More (INM) Movement that has catapulted into the National spot light, here in Canada, since Nov '12 to the present. As I read about the events that had unfolded and even hear about it from both side of the table I can't help but wonder where this will lead. People all over are getting mad at someone. Whites, well non-Aboriginals getting mad that the Indians, Indians are getting made at each other, Indians getting mad at the government. At first the media were loving us now they are getting mad at us. What really gets me is that people are getting mad at us Indians for INM happenings and they really have no clue as to why they are. They base their facts on a media that likes to turn things around for its own political agenda. Indians are getting mad at each other because of the same scenario - they have not a clue as to what really is going on!
Everyone who does not understand what this all means are looking at this from a one sided perspective.
What they are really doing is sticking their tongues on that frozen piece of pipe and realizing that they are stuck. Why? Because they chose not to look at things carefully and do a little research for themselves. Now, I know that I only get a very few people who read this blog of mine. That is okaay because I like to think I write this for my own self. If you do come across this and read it, please by all means do yourself a favour and start doing your own research as to why the INM movement began in the first place. Educate yourself! See for yourself how your neighbours, co-workers, friends, can be lured by what they hear and what they thing and by the media. Let's face it, our own uneducated opinions and those of others, particularly the media can take something that is supposed to be a good thing and turn it around to be a bad thing. What power uneducated biased opinions have.
I guess it is a human triggering mechanism that what one does not understand one will fear. It would be a little overwhelming to see 100's of Native people dressed in their regalia dancing to the singing and beating drums in a public place. It would be a little unnerving and even irritable to be held up on a major highway as 100's of Native people show their support for each other, in protest. If only, a few of those people who are non-Aboriginal would educated themselves, maybe just maybe they would see what the fuss is all about. And they would not find their tongue stuck to that frozen pipe.
In case you are wondering what happened to Spidey. He was discovered after 10-15 minutes when his teacher realized he had not returned from recess. He never did tell what actually happened. He knew better.
Until next time,
Chi-Meegwetch
and
Baamaapii
Here are 2 links to get you started in your education:
http://indigenousnationhood.blogspot.ca/2013/01/what-is-idle-no-more-movement-really.html
http://wabkinew.ca/idle-indian-thing/
Wednesday, 14 November 2012
Short Cuts
I have to let all you in on a not so secret, secret. I am an avid geo-cacher! What is that you may ask. Well, 'it is a real world outdoor treasure hunt. One locates hidden containers of all shapes and sizes using a smartphone or GPS using specified co-ordinates found on line at www.geocaching.com No, this is not a commercial announcement for geo-caching. If you give me a bit of time to explain myself then you will see why I mention this awesome outdoor game.
Back when I was a child - by definition I speak of chronological years, I was kind of mischievous young Nish. Let me give you an example. I recall going to church with my Aunt and Uncle as I did on several occasions. I was way, way in the back row playing and not really paying attention, as I should have. For some reason I honed in on what the preacher was saying. I vividly recall him looking over the congregation pointing his finger in dramatic fashion and bellowing, "What do you think Jonah did as he sat in the belly of that big fish?" I sat up and said, I think he did this!" - I placed my lips on my arm and blew, making a loud farting noise. I thought it was the funniest thing that happened inside the walls of that United Church. Unfortunately, for me, my Aunt didn't think so. You can even read back in a few of my entries to see how much of a good boy I had been.
Then there was the 3 year stretch that I would hunt high and low for the Christmas gifts that my parents bought and hid so poorly in our house. If some of the gifts were already wrapped I would make sure to carefully peel back the gift wrap where it was taped and take a look. Masterfully, I would overlap a new piece of tape over the old one - I was so clever. Or I'd wake up in the wee hours of Christmas morning and do the same thing, and sneak back to bed happy and content that I accomplished my mission. Only to put on a show of being surprised come time to actually open up my gifts. I will you in on a secret - the thrill of opening gifts was lost so I stopped after my 3 years. Mom never ever found out - until now if she reads this. By now the statutes of limitations has kicked in for this sort of crime so she can not touch me.
Then there was the time in grade 4 when our class was having a math test. It was all division questions. I hated math. I hated division. PERIOD! I played up the sick routine pretty good the day before and thought I missed the test. I was wrong. So instead of tackling the mountain of division questions I decided to look to my left where, Spidey sat, scribbling away answers to the test. So, there I go occasionally doing a few of my own questions because the teacher always walked the class ready to pounce on those who would dare to cheat in her class. Seriously, she was a scarey looking haggard thing. So in all I used to little over half of Spideys answers. Well wouldn't you know it. I had all my answers correct and all of Spidey's answers were not only wrong but way out of the ball park. Yes, I was caught. I cheated off the dumbest guy in class.
Back to geo-caching. There is an exhilaration when I end up finding a cache all on my own. It's funny because I have a smile on my face, sometimes I even do a fist pump in the air after find a difficult hide. However, there is one particular cache have been searching for over 13 months with no success. Over that time span I literally looked for this one cache twice a month, at times in knee deep high snow spending at least 20 minutes on each encounter.You do the math!
Finally, I decided to e-mail the owner of this cache and ask for a hint. A spoiler. A hint was given and in 2 minutes it was uncovered. The thing is - the exhilaration and the thrill that I experienced when finding these elusive items on my own was not there. My immediate thought raced back to those three Christmas when I cheated myself out of the thrill of opening a unknown gift. I am glad I found that cache but not how it came about. I felt cheated and I did that to myself.
Here is the moral of this story. It is always better to obtain the prize out of what you put an honest effort into, rather than taking a short cut. Life does have its challenges. Out of those challenges it has its rewards. Fight for what you know you can get out those challenges. When you do and you are successful, the reward that you obtain in gaining the prize far out weighs the feelings of regret that you have in getting by taking a short cut.
Someone once said, "Don't worry so much about your self-esteem. Worry more about your character. Integrity is its own reward." If life were judged by how well I found my geo-caches I guess I would of failed the test. Be all that you can be!
Until next time,
 |
| Your's truly. Found this cache will bird hunting Yes, Timmy's in hand. Cache is a peanut butter jar wrapped in white camo tape. Hidden just out of sight in a downed tree. |
Back when I was a child - by definition I speak of chronological years, I was kind of mischievous young Nish. Let me give you an example. I recall going to church with my Aunt and Uncle as I did on several occasions. I was way, way in the back row playing and not really paying attention, as I should have. For some reason I honed in on what the preacher was saying. I vividly recall him looking over the congregation pointing his finger in dramatic fashion and bellowing, "What do you think Jonah did as he sat in the belly of that big fish?" I sat up and said, I think he did this!" - I placed my lips on my arm and blew, making a loud farting noise. I thought it was the funniest thing that happened inside the walls of that United Church. Unfortunately, for me, my Aunt didn't think so. You can even read back in a few of my entries to see how much of a good boy I had been.
Then there was the 3 year stretch that I would hunt high and low for the Christmas gifts that my parents bought and hid so poorly in our house. If some of the gifts were already wrapped I would make sure to carefully peel back the gift wrap where it was taped and take a look. Masterfully, I would overlap a new piece of tape over the old one - I was so clever. Or I'd wake up in the wee hours of Christmas morning and do the same thing, and sneak back to bed happy and content that I accomplished my mission. Only to put on a show of being surprised come time to actually open up my gifts. I will you in on a secret - the thrill of opening gifts was lost so I stopped after my 3 years. Mom never ever found out - until now if she reads this. By now the statutes of limitations has kicked in for this sort of crime so she can not touch me.
Then there was the time in grade 4 when our class was having a math test. It was all division questions. I hated math. I hated division. PERIOD! I played up the sick routine pretty good the day before and thought I missed the test. I was wrong. So instead of tackling the mountain of division questions I decided to look to my left where, Spidey sat, scribbling away answers to the test. So, there I go occasionally doing a few of my own questions because the teacher always walked the class ready to pounce on those who would dare to cheat in her class. Seriously, she was a scarey looking haggard thing. So in all I used to little over half of Spideys answers. Well wouldn't you know it. I had all my answers correct and all of Spidey's answers were not only wrong but way out of the ball park. Yes, I was caught. I cheated off the dumbest guy in class.
Back to geo-caching. There is an exhilaration when I end up finding a cache all on my own. It's funny because I have a smile on my face, sometimes I even do a fist pump in the air after find a difficult hide. However, there is one particular cache have been searching for over 13 months with no success. Over that time span I literally looked for this one cache twice a month, at times in knee deep high snow spending at least 20 minutes on each encounter.You do the math!
Finally, I decided to e-mail the owner of this cache and ask for a hint. A spoiler. A hint was given and in 2 minutes it was uncovered. The thing is - the exhilaration and the thrill that I experienced when finding these elusive items on my own was not there. My immediate thought raced back to those three Christmas when I cheated myself out of the thrill of opening a unknown gift. I am glad I found that cache but not how it came about. I felt cheated and I did that to myself.
Here is the moral of this story. It is always better to obtain the prize out of what you put an honest effort into, rather than taking a short cut. Life does have its challenges. Out of those challenges it has its rewards. Fight for what you know you can get out those challenges. When you do and you are successful, the reward that you obtain in gaining the prize far out weighs the feelings of regret that you have in getting by taking a short cut.
Someone once said, "Don't worry so much about your self-esteem. Worry more about your character. Integrity is its own reward." If life were judged by how well I found my geo-caches I guess I would of failed the test. Be all that you can be!
Until next time,
Chi-Meegwetch
Baamaapii |
| Here is a cache that is hidden in the corner remnants of an old cabin, |
 |
| A cache looking like a mossy covered rock. Stared at it 3 X's. After that I knocked on it to discover it was hallow. |
Saturday, 6 October 2012
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.
See don't I look distinguished when I am thinking of something to say!
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!
Wednesday, 19 September 2012
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!
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
BaamaapiiTuesday, 11 September 2012
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.
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
BaamaapiiWednesday, 29 August 2012
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
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
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)