Brownbear
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« on: April 16, 2010, 10:35:37 AM » |
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A CONVERSATION FROM A POW-WOW: ROLE MODELS, by Gyasi Ross Friday, April 16, 2010 http://thingaboutskins.wordpress.com/2010/04/15/a-conversation-from-a-pow-wow-role-models/Recently, I was walking around at the University of Washington’s First Nations’ Pow-wow with my 3 year old son holding onto my finger. He loves pow-wows and round dance music—when he rides with me in our car, he always asks me to turn off my Beatles or Journey or Run DMC CDs and put on the “new pow-wow music” (round dance music). Since I told him that there was “new pow-music” at this particular pow-wow, he wanted to see it and hang out with all of the hand drummers.
As my son and I walked around looking for the hand drum contest (they had it hidden downstairs), he began to notice all of the vendors’ wares. I watched his eyes literally get bigger as he began pointing at all of the pretty Navajo jewelry, and the Kachina dolls. He was SO ready to buy SOMETHING when we passed the little Mexican dudes with the sweaters, flutes and “Made in China” toys that are at every pow-wow. While my son and I debated purchasing a squishy ball that lights up, a Coastal Native lady came up to me with her (presumably) grandson, who was slightly bigger than my son.
She gave me a side-glance, “Heyyyyy…don’t you write?”
I smiled at her, “Hi. Yeah, I write a bit.”
She looked up at me, “Yeah, I remember you when you were a little kid—your folks used to stay with us over at Treaty Days—I remember our dog bit you once. Your name is “Joshie,” huh?”
I nodded yes. Obviously she pronounced my name slightly wrong. But since all my cousins and aunties and uncles called me “Josh,” “Joshie” or “Gyas,” I guess I could let her get away with it too. I felt like Ted on “There’s Something About Mary”—“some of my best friends didn’t know my name.”
We continued talking and she continued mispronouncing my name—and that made me feel right at home. “I haven’t spoke to your mom in years, since she stopped dancing. Then one day I saw you on the computer. Your lips looked kinda chapped in that picture—cha!!! HA HA HA…Jokes…but I don’t think we’ve stood this close since you were a little kid. I never realized that you were this tall! And I never realized that you had wavy hair…y’know, I have a daughter who’s single… gawwwww.”
She smiled mischievously and raised her eyebrows, pointing at her grandson. Apparently this boy was her single daughter’s son.
I laughed my fake laugh. “HA!” Everyone who knows me knows my fake laugh, usually reserved for when I feel just a wee bit uncomfortable. “Thank you, but I have a girlfriend. But…how old is your daughter?? Ayyyyeezzz!!!”
She started laughing. Phew. She didn’t take me seriously. I really risked getting slapped just then.
She asked if I was enjoying the pow-wow, and whether I ever dance. “Yeah, this is one of my favorites. I dance sometimes. Not often. I’m honestly not that good.”
She asked if I was really a lawyer; said that I didn’t look like one. “Ain’t it a rule that lawyers are supposed to dress all business?” I told her that rule only applies only to the lawyers with money. I’m the new breed of lawyers—Section 8 lawyers who grew up between a trailer and small apartment units. We broke lawyers have a different rulebook.
She laughed again. Her son liked my red Yankees hat so I put it on his little head and it fell down over his braids and eyes. I have a massive head, and so it would’ve probably fell down over 99% of the population’s braids and eyes, but he had a particularly small peanut shaped head, and his thick braids barely added any radius to it. He smiled up at me.
After we talked for awhile, she paid me the best compliment that anybody’s ever given to me, “Joshie, I’ve never said this to anyone, but I’d like him (pointing at her grandson) to grow up and be like you. I’ve been watching you throughout the years—at this pow-wow, at basketball tournaments. You always had that same pigeon-toed walk and the same big head with a big smile—I can see that you’re a good man. And even though you cut off your braids, I still think that you are an incredible role model.”
I felt myself blushing—my big old head turning red like the Kool-Aid Man. I wasn’t sure how to respond, other than, “Wow…that’s so nice. Thank you.”
I was cheesing really big. I’m not the most modest person in the world, but this little old coastal lady made me embarrassed! I prepared to say more, but then I thought about her words a bit more. I smiled at her and said, “Y’know, I think that’s the nicest thing that anybody’s ever said to me. But you know what? Oddly enough, that title scares me. I mean, no disrespect—I’m flattered. But I’m not sure if I can handle the weight of that honor.”
She looked at me sort of strange—I think that she thought that I was joking because I was still smiling. She said, “Why do you think that you couldn’t handle that?”
I began to answer her, but I was more thinking out loud, “Well, it might just be me, but it seems like “role model” and “the public eye” is a dangerous place for an Indian to be. I mean, doesn’t it seem like we sometimes set people up just to see them fall? Not you, of course—you want me to succeed because you see your little boy in me. You want me to succeed because you want him to succeed. But it seems like our people have a problem with really rooting for our people. As soon as one of our people gets a little bit of success, a little notoriety or money, we start really looking for all of the flaws in those people.”
She started grilling me a little bit when I said that. I’m not sure how many of you know little Coastal women, but they’re focused! When they’re on a mission, they’re gonna get what they want! She asked, “Well, don’t we need Indian men and women who are going to stand up to that heat? Cripe, it sounds like you don’t want people to expect anything of you because you’re afraid you might fail. Don’t our children—my grandson—need leaders and role models who are going to stand up to the miserable people and complain about everything under the sun? My beautiful daughter calls those miserable people “haters.’”
I sighed. “Of course you’re right. But I think that most of the people who are trying to do good—whether it’s tribal leaders or pow-wow dancers or teachers—they’re just trying to lead by example. I don’t think that most of them are trying to make a deep political statement or save the world. They’re not, generally, religious leaders or spiritual. But people expect them to be perfect and the moment that someone sees them in a bar—it’s a scandal! Or the moment that someone hears a RUMOR that they did something in business that was questionable, our people jump to conclusions! Our people seem to love to see our people fail! I’ve seen that happen to so many people, and I’m just not sure how much that I want to be a part of that. Call me weak.”
Then she told me something that made me rethink my position. She pointed to the beautiful little Native kid wearing my oversized red Yankees hat and said, “What you’re saying is true, Joshie. But…If my grandson isn’t looking up to you—doesn’t see you as his role model, who is he going to look up to? Whether or not you choose to accept it, you ARE a role model for him. For better or for worse.”
I’m still not convinced that she’s 100% right, but I had to concede that she had a point. Although I still wonder why our people love to tear “us” down, she forced me to also wonder who is willing to stand up as strong examples of “us” if we’re not.
Any thoughts?I've always liked his work.
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