I'm So Over You.

.
My nursing boards were scheduled to take place at the Civic Center over a two-day period. I asked Marion if Andrew could stay with her over those two days; I'd do better if I didn't have to worry about him. The first day of the test, the staff ushered us into a large room. We weren't allowed to bring anything in with us and we weren't allowed to leave the room. It was a long and stressful day. That night I went to bed early, my body was drained.

Around midnight the phone rang. "Beth.... This is Dorothy," came the slurred voice, "I'm over at a party.... Will you pick me up...and take me over to Lincoln?"

"No!" I barked and hung up.

_________________________________________________________

That weekend, the nursing boards finally over with, Andrew and I actually began to relax. Having nothing but welfare now money was tight. But it was okay, Andrew and I didn't need much. We went to fairs, the library, and to visit my family. We went to the beach twice a week and spent the whole afternoon doing nothing but play together in the water and lie on the warm sand. If I had loose change, I bought each of us an ice cream bar at the refreshment stand. It was a beautiful, wonderful time.

Unfortunately, it ended too soon. I came home from an overnight stay at my sister's one day and found Troy and Mathew sleeping in the house. They'd gotten in through the upstairs porch door.

I was angry, but didn't show it. Not wanting them to hate me, I didn’t want them to know how I felt. I scolded them and then let it go. My quiet time was over.

The phone rang just as I was falling asleep.

"Tell my dad Cheri had her kid," Misty snapped.

"Tell him yourself," I snapped back and hung up.

_________________________________________________


Mickey came back from Texas, but Paul stayed with his dad. I went into labor in September and Troy drove me in. I didn't call Wilson. Why bother? He knew when I was due. I'd packed my overnight bag for Andrew also, intending that he stay with me. Troy dropped Andrew and me at the hospital door.

Around 5:30 p.m. the next day, Andrew tried to cut his sister's cord. The doctor helped.

Haley's initial color at birth was dark and her face was squashed, accenting her Indian features. My initial reaction to the way she looked was fear. My thought; "I've given birth to an Indian girl who will become a teenage Indian girl."

I was barely out of the shower when Steph arrived half an hour later from work. She very lovingly combed my wet hair out. Erik, Bobby and Chris arrived soon after. All of them took time to hold Haley. I was tired, but so touched and grateful to have them all there. When they left they took Andrew and his belongings with them.

"I'll pick you up and take you home when it's time," Steph offered.

I fell asleep that night comforted by my brothers and sisters. Alone with Haley, my feelings of fear passed.

She was beautiful.
.

If we claim to be without sin, we deceive ourselves

.
For three weeks we struggled to rid our house of lice. Everytime I had thought they were gone, I'd look on Andrew's head and there they were again. Fortunately, the Crisis Nursery was well stocked with lice shampoo and even an upholstery spray. I helped myself to the products, putting them into the car as my co-worker slept, and went through our home washing every head, stitch of clothing, and stuffed animal in the house more than once.

And as I went throughout pulling out every piece of clothing I could find, I came across a pair of pants, a blouse, and a white blazer that had been missing for quite some time. Mine! Embarrassment washed over me. Not wanting the clothing to be found by anyone else and my false accusation of Misty discovered, I stuffed the clothes in a bag and gave them away at the first opportunity.

But as for the lice, despite my cleaning efforts, scarcely a week later the pests would be back. The mother of Andrew’s friend called one day and asked if we were having trouble with bugs.
Reluctantly, I admitted we were.

"So were we. But I think it's been coming from that new family that just moved in from the Rez. I went and asked her about it, and she acted like she didn't even know what lice were. I told her I'd wash her kid’s heads for her."

"I'll keep Andrew away for awhile."

The lice problem disappeared.
_____________________________________________


In order to pass the Ojibwe class that spring, I had to stand in front of everyone and give a short speech in the language. Family and friends were invited to this event. Roland and the kids came, along with Roland’s sister Yvonne. After we had all given our speeches, we shared a potluck lunch that included venison, wild rice and fry bread. I was given an "A" for the class, but even more important, Yvonne said I did really well. I was so glad to hear her say that.

____________________________________________
The small man who owned the corner store was a friendly fellow, but unless I needed a last minute item, I avoided his store. His food was old. Previous purchases had included freezer burned ice cream and milk that was so outdated it plopped like pudding into the glass when poured.

I don't know why I went in this day with my WIC vouchers. I must have been in a hurry.

"You have WIC?" he asked, "here, I let you get pop with your WIC instead of juice. You can get anything. It's okay. I do this for my good customers. You are a good customer."

"No thank you. I'll get juice," I said, while thinking to myself, 'why would I want to get pop when juice is more expensive?'

Returning, I met Andrew in the alley. He, along with some other boys, was racing around with a stick in his hands.

"Look, Mom! I'm part of a gang!"

_____________________________________________________
At fourteen, Savannah had a baby girl. I called the hospital and told them she was homeless, truant and addicted. I told them that her mother was homeless, too. I asked them to place Savannah and the baby in foster care. But someone showed up at the hospital and claimed them. I suppose all they had to do was tell the hospital that yes, they did have a good place to stay. The hospital released them.

On Savannah's new welfare check, she and Annie got an apartment together. I brought over some clothes and diapers from the Crisis Nursery.

"Just take good care of the baby and everything will be okay," I told Savannah, "Don't start drinking again. Use your check to get five bags of diapers and a case and a half of formula every month. If you stay out of trouble, social services will leave you alone."

A couple of weeks later, one of Verlin’s sister's called me.

"Do you have Savannah's baby?" she asked.

"No," I answered, "is the baby missing?"

"Well," the caller said, "Savannah was drinking and doesn't know where she left it."

She went on to say the baby had been missing for about ten days. As I hung up the phone, I was horrified. The baby could be lying dead in some alley. After a moments pause, I called St. Joseph's Home for Children. 'Misplaced' children often turn up there.

"Yes," The woman on the phone said, "we did get an unidentified Native American baby girl this last week."

I hung up the phone in relief, but I didn't call and tell the family. The longer the home kept the baby, the better. Unfortunately, the family eventually called St. Joseph's and the baby was returned to them shortly there after. 

Why does Social Services keep putting Savanah and her baby back on the street together?  Why isn't anyone stepping in to protect these two children?
.

Diary of a Mad Black Woman

Today, December 10, 2010, My daughter had ordered two movies from Netflix - "Madea's Family Reunion" and "Diary of a Mad Black Woman."

I'm glad I watched  "Diary of a Mad Black Woman" all by myself, because when Helen's cousin entered the church, I began bawling like a big baby. I cried for the next half hour - not really watching the rest of the movie.  (Spoiler warning) - She reminded me so much of Lila - who also had a daughter and son about those ages when she died - and then to see this woman walk through those doors - grabbing hold of the Spirit with all her heart -  I had no idea I had all that grief still inside me.  How I wish that Lila had been able to do that.

They're Indian Kids. Let the Tribe Take Care of 'em. They Aren't Our Business.

.
Carrie had been with us now for only about three or four months. It seemed like a much longer period of time had passed, but that was only because so much had happened in that short period of time.

Child Protection informed us that although there was proof Carrie was abused, there was no proof as to who did it. Without proof, they couldn't hold anyone accountable.  We were told Carrie's father and his family were to be allowed visits again.

Dalene, anxious to see her, took Carrie home for the weekend. On Sunday evening, they returned. Setting the baby out of the car onto the sidewalk, they handed her the overnight bag and gave her a nudge.  We had heard the car drive up and had come out, surprised to see 18-month-old Carrie climbing the steps to the door - by herself - dragging the little bag behind her.

They watched from the road until they saw us pick her up, then drove off.

When Cheri finally came back a week or so later and took Carrie, I laid on my bed and cried for a couple hours.

____________________________________________

I returned to the Ojibwe class in the last semester. I still felt it was important for the children to understand their culture, so I took Andrew and sometimes Joy with me to class. Pregnant again, I even considered wearing headphones on my belly in order to assimilate the baby to the language. Mickey’s brother Troy, whose friends had shaved his head during a drunk, moved in with us, too. I wanted the boys to get better at speaking also, so I wrote onto slips of paper the Ojibwe names of household objects and then stuck them around the house.

It seemed like a good idea, but no one was really interested. Those slips of paper remained stuck to our furniture for a good year, little noticed by anyone.

The boys weren't interested in the language, but attained other minor victories. While staying with us, Troy obtained his driver’s license, had his chipped front tooth fixed, and worked on getting his GED. Mickey worked on getting his driver’s permit and attended high school.

One day Mickey came home an hour early from class.

"What are you doing home?" I asked him.

"My advocate let me out."

"What do you mean, 'let you out'?"

"Well, I didn't like my art teacher, so a month or so ago my Indian advocate let me drop the class and go to study hall in his office instead. He'd ask me a couple questions and stuff, but I wasn't really doing anything there so now he just lets me come home instead."

I called the advocate. "In the first place," I told him, "I don't agree with letting him drop art.  He has to work out his problems with his teacher. But in the second place, Mickey got two 'F's' last quarter! How come you’re letting him cut out of school?"

"What are you worried about?" the advocate, also a tribal member, responded, "He's got three years of school left. He's got time to catch up."

About ready to blow my top and getting nowhere with this man, I called the principal, who agreed Mickey shouldn't be leaving school early. It was too late to get Mickey back into the art class, so he placed him into the real study hall instead.  Unfortunately, the principal didn't have the cojones to fire the advocate for being the idiot he was.

The following day, Mickey confided that the Indian advocate had told him  "Don't listen to Beth, all white people talk like that."

'What a jerk,' I thought angrily, 'why isn't that so-called advocate helping Mickey apply himself? Don't they think an Indian kid can be expected to work hard?  Do they look down on Indian kids that much?  If anybody dares treat Andrew that way when he gets to school, expecting less of him just because he's Indian, I'll knock em to the moon!

Right - it's easy to blow up at all the fools outside the family.  But to open my mouth and say something to family members?  Not so much...
.