It’s 4:45am. Grandma is at my door.
“A good ndn is always up before the sun”, she gently whispers, in Blackfoot. I think I’m still dreaming
It’s 4:52am. Grandma is standing by my bed, lovingly taunting me, in Blackfoot, to get up already, with a bucket of ice cold water.
“NII’TAA’KIIT, O’MAHK’SIIK’IIMI” (Hurry up)
It’s 4:55am. Grandma is super hurriedly (and a bit angrily, lol) braiding my super long hair, 'cause us dang kids stayed up too late playing that dang Super Mario on that dang Super Nintendo, yet again
“Who is this dang Super Mar-eeo, anyways!? Why does he keep you up so dang late!?”
It’s 4:59am. Grandma is yelling at us, in Blackfoot, as we barely make the bus.
“GEEZ, YOU KIDS!!!”
It’s 5:03am. BillyBoy the Bus Driver is turning the bus around, ‘cause us dang kids forgot our dang lunch bags and our dang mitts
“GEEZ, YOU KIDS!!!”
… then I sit, for 3 hours, as countless other Blood rez kids are picked up enroute to the non-Blood-rez colonial settler school. I’ve got my trusty li’l dual-cassette ghetto blaster, so of course, I try to liven up the dejected ndn crowd and be a pretend Rez Radio DJ:
“Rockin The Reservation, coming to you live from the Big Yellow Bus, this is O’mahk’siik’iimi “Big Fist In The Air” Pii’tai’poyi, bringing you all the best in rez radio hits. Coming up next, a little bit of XIT, and their badass warrior song “Reservation of Education”
I crank that badboy. A big yellow bus full of little red skins, rockin’ the reservation! I lip sync my favorite lyrics, one tightly clenched fist in the air:
“When I was young, I heard of fate, but not the word SEGREGATE”
“When I was young, I heard of hate, but not the word DISCRIMINATE”
“I was told my way was wrong, and I must change to get along”
“Big yellow bus took me away, where I would learn a different way”
Us rez kids, we rocked that reservation, man!
… then, at school, it’s the same %$#@ routine every day:
Getting relentlessly teased (or hit on) because of my "beautiful" long hair
“HER name is Jason???”
Eating Bologna & Butter sandwiches every lunch hour, while everyone else buys Slurpees and fries and gravy and personal pan pizzas and sushi. I contemplate, real loud to myself, in Blackfoot:
“I wonder what that Napikoan (white dude) would do if I stole his fries, just like his ancestors stole our land?”
Getting constantly singled out by teachers and asked for "the Native perspective"
“Jason, do Native people still live in tipis?” (I glare at them, Indigenously)
… then the long bus ride home to the rez, -40 Celsius, in the dark. My thoughts are as clear as an azure sky of deepest summer, I gaze lovingly at my ancestors homelands and quietly contemplate the power of all the NAPI stories my grandparents told me
... then Grandma making me Stew & Bannock and Wild Mint Tea and Saskatoon Berry Pie and giggling and “making” me study and hustle and create and tell her all my stories - while all my friends were out partying and having a "good" time
That’s the secret of my success …