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! ;)

Love,
Sarah