Childhood starts our jouney

I was 12 years old; I was standing under my cottonwood tree. This tree was my sanctuary. I was a chubby girl, and this was the only tree on the property that I could climb and sit in branches.

I was 12 years old, standing under The Cottonwood Tree. I stood there horrible alone, I was confused. I felt like I had just been dropped from somewhere to here; but I had no idea where somewhere was, and wasn’t too sure if I wanted to stick around here.

As I stood there, under that tree, I scanned my memories. I knew we moved from across the railroad tracks when I was 3. But, I did not remember one birthday, holiday, or family meal. I had few other memories that really had no context. It’s not like these people were total strangers.� I had a mother who gave birth to me during her change of life and resented me. She called me Shelly, but I also knew this was not my name. I would find out, when I went to get my drivers license at age 16, my name was not Shelly. It was MiChal.

My mother was born german, catholic. She married outside the church and her religion.� Her mother was the local family tree. She knew who had married who and what their children’s names were for generations. At school, I would tell my cousins that we were lated and how. The informed me, that since I had not been baptized in the church I was a bastard and not related to them. Therefore, by 12, I was an outside to my family, the town and even the ones I was blood related too. No, it was differently looking like I didn’t want to stay here. Although, I really wanted to know where somewhere was and get back there.�

 

�My father was an Ojibwa, who had been taken from his birth family, put in a boarding school, beat for praying in his native language and had his eye shot out by a local boy for being a half breed. This incidents� conditioned him to remain silent about our native ancestors.

In 1975, the right to speak your native language and teach your children your native religion was still against the law. That right was not restored to us until 1978. And we can thank Leonard Peltier who still rots in white man’s prison.

So, in 1975 when I was 12, it was still against the law for him to teach me our native ways. My father supported us by working with the earth. He had a truck garden and a rabbit business. The rest of his time was spent “studying to show thyself approved.” We would pore over ancient maps, ancient history; we studied the lives and cultures of the Middle East. He traveled to Wichita, Kansas when ever he got the chance to study with the rabies. He wanted so much, “to lean the truth, of the hidden wisdom of the bible.”

My father was the most honest, giving man. Any one that needed help in our little village would call on him. Although, they admired him for his altruism, he was still an outsider.

The town was a Masonic town, but I do not know at this time if that is important.

�When I was five and starting kindergarten, the oldest child was going to college.� She was the oldest and I was the youngest. There were three brothers in between.

Now, I was 12 and the only child left home. I was standing under my favorite tree that lived on this square block of land, in a tiny town in Kansas. My parents owned that land, the American dream fulfilled.

One of the memories that I knew standing under that tree; I used to walk to school with the two youngest brothers. There was as barn in between the school and my house. Many times I would walk home from the barn. The buses had come and gone, and I had been left alone. But, that is all I remember. That and my hair would get tangled in the tall overgrown grasses I had to walk through� to get back to the walkway.

The second memory; I was under the homemade beds, made of old doors on top of saw horses. The brothers were under there with me. My sister took notice of what was going on. She said she was going to tell mom.

Soon after this realization at age 12, I was aware of what was going on around me. I was lonely, scared and very vulnerable. Adult men started coming on to me. I was not aware that is was abuse, or that I had the right to tell them no. I floundered through my life. From prostitution to drugs, I exercised my free will of self mutilation. By 21, I had been married and was pregnant and alone. This saved my life. I knew I had to get myself together to take care of the blessed gift I was to receive. I had already lost two chances to have children, and instinctively knew that this was my last chance. I had never traveled very far from my home town, so it was not difficult going back.

I was still close to my parents. I had more memories open up to me about my childhood, but still not realize what it all meant.

I would walk a journey of self exploration and discovery that I would not have experienced with out the experiences that lead me to this place.