How My Life Began...

I was born in California but moved to the Flathead Reservation when I was just 1. My Dad was a tribal member here and even though he wasn't raised here, his mother had been born and raised here. His mother was a boarding school survivor, her brother however, didn't make it. They broke his spirit and he died a very young man. My dad wanted to raise his kid on the reservation, definetely not in California where my mom was from, or in Washington where he was from. My mother was heartbroken to leave everything she knew and all her family who were a great help with me. She did what my father wanted though and we packed up and headed to Montana.

Many natives dream of getting themselves and their kids off and away from the rez. My dad was determined to get back to the ways of his ancestors, to raise me right. And he did, in a very dysfunctional and trauma filled way. But I wouldn't change it because it made me who I am today. I am very thick skinned and down right tough in so many ways. I grew up confused and knowing who I am but not always being accepted. I didn't feel white spiritually, I grew up feeling and knowing I'm native yet physically my skin is light, my eyes are green. I don't look native except for my high cheek bones, flat butt and thick back. I love one of those about me, the other two not so much. I grew up stuck in between. I was told I wasn't native by the dark kids. That always stung deep to my core. It always made me jealous of my less native cousin who is darker than me. Her dad married a very dark native woman with two kids and it made us so happy when we danced in the pow wows with her and ran around with her kids because we knew no one would mess with us or question us. At school, native kids got papers white kids didn't about native celebrations and meetings and everyone would look at me like, why are you getting that? The older I got, the more confident I grew but as a young kid, I just felt like I didn't belong anywhere. A girl once came up to the group I was sitting at in middle school at lunch and asked, "What does it feel like to be white?" I stared her down and said, "I wouldn't know, I'm native." That felt so exhilarating and after explaining to her my native credentials she was like oh cool, I didn't know. I honestly feel like that was a turning point in my life. I needed to be proud enough of being a Native American to say it outloud. It is ridiculous that I had to backup my announcement to the world but I would have to many times in my life, each time filling me with more confidence yet a little bit of anger. I would even have to explain myself and in turn explain themselves, to my children later on. I would also have to deal with my children going thru the same thing as myself. My husband is 1/2 Mexican so my poor kids also heard they weren't native or Mexican. My daughter often asked if her uncle, whom is a much darker mexican than her dad, could bring her to school. She also later changed her last name, representing her Mexican grandpa to prove that yes, she indeed, is Mexican. My son would always ask why weren't they darker and I apologized for being a lot Irish. His little brother was later born and is a little darker with brown eyes, and we joke that he got all Mexican and Indian.

My Dad was very opinionated and I grew up that his way is the right way, really the only way. I was taught to hate God, he was a white man's idea. I grew up with Mother Nature as my higher power. My dad had to go to Catholicism where the nuns liked to hit him on the hands with rulers when they were naughty. He hated religion and everything it stood for. He thought that people hide behind religion, acting like they were always good but not really doing right by the world everyday as they should. He believed that we should only take what we need and not be greedy. He often brought home treasures from the dump, in shock because someone threw decent items away. My mom would usually just shake her head. He believed that we should always leave a place better than when we got there and to not be wasteful. His church was a drive along the river, looking down at the beautiful scenery and watching for wildlife. This reservation is the one of the most beautiful ones out there, right on a huge lake surrounded by majestic mountains in a state we call The Last Best Place, Big Sky Country, and the Treasure State. The wildlife here is abundant and amazing and no matter how many times we see deer, some days as often as we see dogs, we still point it out excitedly when we see a deer. The population was not large when my parents moved here and is still it a town, although we hate how big it has gotten.

I was raised to be my Dad's hunting partner and game spotter! My eyes were good when I was little and well, I wasn't the one drinking and driving while we hunted so maybe I was the better spotter. My Dad called me his hunting partner and that made me soar with pride every single time. I started hunting very early, about one. We often would drive thru the woods where only he was brave enough to drive his non 4 wheel drive Chevy Impala. He would have to get a run at uphill, unplowed, snow packed, single lane, tree lined roads. I usually only got nervous when we'd come upon another car and one would have to back out a ways or we'd have to make two vehicles fit. I hated when we were on the downhill side of a steep mountain road, looking down at a drop off. But I had faith in my dad. I remember getting scared when my Dad was helping his cousin round up cows in that same Chevy Impala and a large bull rammed the back of the car. It put in a large dent but Dad didn't care, later this car entered the demolition derby by a cousin and was put out of its misery. My Dad spray painted all of his vehicles primer gray. That was his favorite color. I also love gray but I wouldn't go to that extent, I buy silver cars and leave them alone, no spray paint for me.

My Dad didn't trust others with me, I very rarely went to a sitter. It was much safer for me being with him, even if he and his brother or buddies drank the whole time while we hunted. We were usually at the bar when we weren't hunting and my mom was at work. But that's ok, because a lot of my family was there. I had cousins to play with there too sometimes. They often had a sitter though so it would be my and my Dad, his brothers, older cousins and lots of old people just sitting around bullshitting and getting drunk. The more they got drunk, the more shirley temples, jerky and chips I got! They gave me lots of quarters for the jukebox and to play the upright video games. I have a Pac Man tattoo because I am very good at playing it. I even impress my older kids, which is hard to do. It's all because one bar had a PacMan game and I only had so many quarters to get thru the night. Once in awhile my cousins and I would try to sneak quarters in the gambling machines but I did not like to ever be in trouble so that wasn't often. Depending on the bartender, I had to act accordingly. Some frowned on young kids being in the bar, especially when it was busy. I was warned to lie low when Dad knew the bartender was about to kick us out. I had a coloring book and could sit for hours if I needed to. But when the bartenders didn't care I could run around, dance a little and check all the machines for money drunk people forgot about. My dad knew how much I loved Sesame Street so we were known for running home because my favorite show was coming on. Sometimes we'd be right back after. I loved picking out music on the jukebox but I remember one day getting scolded because I kept playing all of Patsy Cline's sad songs over and over. She was my favorite singer but Dad said I was making the mood of the bar sad and everyone a little depressed. They were already trying to drown their sorrows. Dad said I had to pick more upbeat songs, liven the mood a little. I'm sure I played some Hank Williams Jr. then. Probably, All My Rowdy Friends. We would leave before Dad ever got too drunk or if others were getting too rowdy or if weirdos would arrive. Not that I would ever have to worry with my Dad and his brothers and cousins. They would seriously hurt or kill someone and not think twice about it if someone messed with me and everyone knew that. My mom was the breadwinner and was at work while all this happened. She didn't know how often we were at the bar or if we were having a little party at home with others. We would often stop by the grocery store she worked at to show her what we got while hunting. Sometimes I would smear blood on my face like warpaint and walk in, find her, and yell, "Mommy, we got something!" My poor mom, never acted embarrassed, she was proud of us. Being a tribal member and living on the reservation meant year round hunting. There is no hunting season for them. We only ate deer, elk, pheasant, grouse, and quail, my mom's favorite. Later, when my dad lost his drive for hunting, it was an adjustment for us to eat cow and chicken. We seriously had awful gas and worse while our bodies were adjusting. That was one of my dad's way of providing for us because money wasn't. He needed a lot for cigarettes and alcohol. He was a house painter though when he needed to be. And random jobs for brothers and buddies. My mom often told a story about she and my Dad being together for quite awhile before him telling her he was a professional house painter. That was after he kept telling her what she was doing wrong painting their house. My mom was one of the hardest workers I know. She was not scared to put in long hours and worked her way up into managerial positions in what was then a man's world. I remember going to the back of the grocery store and seeing my mom throwing massive amounts of heavy freight with a cigarette dangling out of her mouth or buzzing around in a forklift. She could outwork the men and wasn't scared to take on a shoplifter either. I have to say I am so thankful that my mom taught me to have an amazing work ethic and to not be scared to work hard and for long hours. Another important aspect my mom taught me was to volunteer and be active in the community. She was in charge of all of the Special Olympics fundraising thru their store and I was always with her helping. We did so many different fundraisers throughout the years. Coupon clipping for others to donate and telethons. Root Beer and hamburger sales which my then boyfriend, now husband even helped. We sewed outfits and accessories for dolls to be give out to children at Christmas. My lifelong volunteering and always helping out the underdog came from my mom. I appreciate this so much and know that it has also extended to my children. What a lifelong important lesson.

At about 5 or 6, I was also a good bartender at home. Lots of whiskey with a little pop for my Dad, the opposite for guests. I would stir it up with my finger and lick it off. I can't imagine why I like to drink often now. We would play music and I would dance, making sure everyone had what they needed. Everyone usually left before my mom was off work which when she worked nights would be very late. Dad would usually pass out and I would usually wait for him to go to bed first, I would make sure he put his cigarette out because at a very young age, I was that responsible. I would watch TV in my mom's room waiting for her to get home. I would fake asleep before she walked in so she wasn't worried that I had actually been up that late. I watched Mr. Ed, I Dream of Jeannie, The Andy Griffith Show, Car 54, Where are You. My mom would try to take me to a preschool she had enrolled me. Unfortunely, it started in the mornings and we were both too tired because we had stayed up so late, so I got kicked out for being late too much. Oh well. I now know that this was setting me up for a lifetime of being always the responsible one.