All the light in my life filtered softly through the trees The shadows in the photographs Five ghosts who followed me

Wednesday would have been the 101st birthday of my maternal grandfather. As far as I knew, he had been my only grandfather, and had acted as my father most of my life. He passed away 20 years ago this April, his death left a giant hole in my heart that never quite mended. I am just used to it now.

The circumstances that surrounded my grandfather's death have always made me question if the universe has any sense of fairness. A man who was never sick a day in his life dying because of a rare blood disease he probably got from working in factories his entire life, because of all the hard work and sacrifices he had made for his family.

I never knew my paternal grandfather. I had only seen one photo of him before last year: a picture of him wearing sunglasses and a captain's hat, at an angle. He died before I was born. I knew almost nothing about him, other than the fact that he drank too much and that had killed him. But, apparently, he was well liked and very fun at parties. His death certificate lists complications associated with severe alcoholism--you know, all the ones they warn you about. His ethnicity is listed as "French Canadian Indian." Cause of Death: Drunk Indian, like his father before him, and like his son after him. 

I saw a "real" photo of the mythical "Grandpa Dick" for the first time last year. My maternal grandfather's death had always left such a hole in my heart, but I've come to realize that I think Grandpa Dick's death, did, too. My maternal grandparents were just Grandma and Grandpa, whereas my paternal grandparents were "Grandpa ____ "and "Grandma _____ [their names]." My mother had always told me that my Grandpa Dick always wanted grandchildren, but never lived to see them. Grandpa Dick died at the age of 51.

I am completely estranged from that side of my family. I am trying to reconnect. I am trying to do the work that needs to be done. It's such a painful and arduous process. I never knew my Grandpa Dick. There are questions I cannot ask him. The two great uncles I knew, and loved, are gone. I rarely ever saw them, I saw Uncle Donald more than Dana. This is incredibly painful to me, because most of my life has been seen through this prism of colonialism, trauma, and pain--which is not a unique experience to Indigenous peoples globally. Trying to ask about the great-grandfather has brought more questions than answers. Most of what I know about him is that he was a bad man who terrorized and abandoned his family. Abject poverty. Violence. Abandonment. Pain.

I've been contacting the churches that Uncle Donald worked with and was a bishop for--they were all very lovely to me. I know the Catholic Church as a broader institution is awful (that's such a polite understatement), but how kind of helpful with what little information they had to give me cannot be understated.

I stopped talking about being Native online because there is so much identity policing, lateral violence, and just plain old old fashioned ugliness. I know that there are a lot of fakes out there, but we're really placed a lot of emphasis, certainly too much emphasis on federal recognition and enrollment. I don't place a lot of emphasis or value on the way people present (I mean, my stepsister Kayla is half Japanese and her children are half Asian, and they all have blonde hair and blue eyes), but there is SOMETHING to be said about folks who just happen to have the magical Injun Pedigree card from The Great White Father(s) who present way less Native than someone like myself or my mom going after people like myself or my mom or  Black Natives. Like the optics do not look good, people! And, look, I am not the Presentation or the Phenotype Police, but you stuck your foot in it the minute YOU wanted to be the Injun Blood Quantum Police! But truly, it's none of my business! 👀😇

I know there are a lot of fakes out there, make no mistake, but why all of a sudden have we all decided to be shitty to people who are reconnecting? It's like everyone has lost sight of the fact that colonialism and imperialism displaced and estranged so many of us. Even Northern Natives who want to be shitty to Southern Natives --especially Mexicans-- who have finally accepted that they are Indigenous (or been allowed to accept that they are Indigenous), why do we have to do this? Like we are all hurt, lost, and broken by the same systems in different ways, can we please stop being like this?

Below is a photo of my mom and her friends in their early to mid twenties. Isn't she cute? I know that I am biased, but I mean, look at her!

This is my mom and me as a new born. It took one of those DNA tests (yes, don't laugh) for my mom to finally see herself as an Indigenous person. I know those tests are deeply flawed and mostly junk, but I think that was a pivotal turning point for all of our identities.

Both of my grandfathers were Indigenous men who married European women they met while stationed overseas in Europe. My maternal grandmother was a Geordie-Scot and my paternal grandmother is Bavarian German. I don't like the term "mixed" because I am not a dog or an alcoholic drink, I am a whole person who is made of 4 different parts with microparts there in. I don't even like referring to ancestors or relatives as "parts," that shit is just weird. I have never felt like I was "not enough," no matter how many people projected their own insecurities onto me. It's just weird that other people, mostly Native people I have never met and do not know (and mostly behind my back, okayyyyyyy, Lupin IIIs of shit-talking) are now trying to invalidate me. It's in stark contrast to the vast majority of my life where I was destined for failure because my father was a "drunk Indian" and that somehow explained both all of his badness and my predetermined terrible fate. (Spoiler Alert, I am just fine... mostly.)

My family does not have residential school trauma. I have always felt very guilty about this. My tribe has no recognition in the United States, and my grandfather and his brothers were raised by a white-presenting mother who sent them to a parochial school. It's weird that the things people used to survive and protect them during horrifying times and unimaginable circumstances are now being used against them from people who couldn't even begin to understand.

The Pope being in Canada and his non-apology for the atrocities committed against Native people (especially children) has brought up a lot of conversations again.

(This is not my photo but the blog where this is from also seems defunct.)

My great Uncle Donald was the First Native American bishop in the Catholic church. He was a well-loved person, who was Catholic, but also very deeply connected to his traditional Native beliefs. Like many other Catholics, he saw no issue with incorporating elements of Indigenous beliefs into his Catholic practices. I have footage of him speaking at conferences from the 1990s and early 2000's on such topics as reparations for DACS, real reconciliations (not just uwu, so sowwys like the Pope has been giving), Land Back (before the hashtag), and the restoration of the world and the precious resources of the planet back into the custodial hands of Indigenous people world wide. Other than his church sanctioned views on abortion (unfortunately), he really was a remarkable, moral person, far beyond mythologizing that comes with deceased relatives.

Uncle Donald and Uncle Dana were my only cultural link I had. I only saw them once a year on Thanksgiving (the only holiday that was not of religious significance. They were some of the most precious and important 4 hours a year.

Uncle Donald taught me so many things.  Something I've learned and I keep learning and evolving from is that the Church and all its power and might and glory and ill-got wealth may be evil (hello, it comes from the Roman Empire), but to never underestimate the Indigenous ability of syncretism. I know that people who are on the "More Decolonized Than Thou" train scoff at this, but I am not going to begrudge Native people, Mexicans, the Irish, or Haitians for using it to survive.

I was much happier to see them than I look in this photo, I promise.

My great uncles and grandfather celebrating their mother's birthday. She seems like such a remarkable woman, I am sad I never met her.

There are a lot of unanswered questions about what it means to be Indigenous, who gets to be Indigenous, how is Indigeneity measured. I feel that as I get older, the feral child characters I loved so much (I wonder why, hahahaha) resonate with me more and more--the urge to leave society on a raft or leaving with a bindle over my shoulder just appeals to me more and more every day! “That is just the way with some people. They get down on a thing when they don’t know nothing about it.” 

Just an Indigenous little girl and her bestie.

I do what I like, and I suit me.