mom dad sister and aunt went too

When I was in kindergarten, my school had a ‘Native American Day’. It was a 'pow wow’ where the kids dressed up as stereotypical NDNs.

My parents were both half-NDN, but the sicker white family members had done their best to erase our ancestry, decades ago and even today. But my mother (who is half-Choctaw, which we didn’t know until we tracked down her father before his death) saw this as an opportunity to teach me about what little she did know about her family. She took a skirt and shirt I already owned and helped me sew beads into it, and told me that while it wasn’t the same as an actual Native American dress, a lot of tribes who had actual pow wows would design their own outfits and she wanted this one to mean something to me. That night she told me about her older sister who ran away when she was little, and how a lot of their older family members refused to accept her as legitimate daughter because she was too dark skinned, while my mom took after my German grandmother. I’ve only met my aunt once, and I was too little to remember it. She’s still estranged from some of her family.

The next day my dad braided my hair like he always did and we went up to the school together. My (fully-white) teacher was confused as to why I wore a nice dress and handed me a shitty paper poncho-type thing and a dollar store feather glued to a construction paper headband. My parents were upset that some crappy outfit was the whole purpose of the 'pow wow’, and I cried until the teacher threatened to put me in the corner for the rest of the day. My parents were so disappointed in the school for having a day to 'celebrate Native culture’ by wearing crappy costumes and dancing in a circle while making ridiculous noises, but other than complain to the same people who approved it they didn’t know what to do.

This happened well over a decade and a half ago, and it taught me (and my parents) that our past, our FAMILY that we were trying so hard to reclaim was just a joke to the majority of our world, and that it didn’t matter that we had TRIED to compromise–there wasn’t a happy medium that the white people in charge of my school would be happy with. It was give up or go home.

Maybe Love Isn’t Enough (Part 3)

Part 1 Part 2 

You can’t control it, you don’t know when it’s going to hit you. It can creep up on you or hit you over the head like a ton of bricks, but no matter when it hits, how hard it hits, just know it will knock you off of your feet. Whether it’s love, pain, fear, happiness, or the feeling that your heart is being slowly ripped into thousands of tiny pieces, it will hit you like nothing ever before. Owen read the last text sent from Amelia, tears sitting in his icy blue eyes. He read the message over and over again ‘we’ll talk tomorrow. Goodnight.’ How could he have done this? How could he have hurt the women he loved, the mother of his children, the most genuine person he knows? And she so small, how could he not realize he was hurting her?

He looked around their still destroyed family room, tipped over coffee table, pillows everywhere, broken glass, it looked like a crime scene. He walked over to the closet, grabbing the dust pan and a broom and began cleaning up the room. There was no way he was sleeping tonight, and he could at least clean up his disaster that way his wife wouldn’t have to face that along with a  hundred other things when she came home. As he swept the broken glass, feathers from pillows, and fragments of furniture into the dust pan, his tears trickled down his nose, landing in the piles of debris he was scooping. His hands clenched onto the stick of the broom, forcefully shoving the broken glass into the dust pan as his tears fell faster.

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You Are My Sunshine

Warnings: Weight Issues/Emotional Hurt

Word Count: 1828

You know damn well your body is precious. You know you deserve to be treated like a queen, but those 18 inches from your head to your heart just don’t seem to be pulling that knowledge into truth today. You felt gorgeous walking into the bar, why couldn’t he have just left you alone? Why couldn’t you just be skinnier? Why did she have to walk in?

You gain what composure you can, deciding to leave the bar and go home and curl up alone.

As you catch your breath, the tears stop slowly, a fire growing in your heart. You splash water over your face and let the last few tears fall as you pull a paper towel from the dispenser and dry your face. You breathe in, look in the mirror one last time, a yearning pain streaking through your body, and turn to walk back into the dimly lit battlefield of rude men and not obese, beautiful women.

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