CCBC-Net Archives
RE: How I Became a Ghost
- Contemporary messages sorted: [ by date ] [ by subject ] [ by author ]
From: Lee Byrd <leebyrd_at_cincopuntos.com>
Date: Thu, 20 Feb 2014 11:45:20 -0700
This essay, written by Tim Tingle, appeared at the end of his picture book, *Saltypie, A Choctaw Journey from Darkness Into Light. *Written several years ago, it has much to do with the *New York Times *article posted as part of this discussion.
*How Much Can We Tell Them?*
My father was the finest welder I ever knew. He welded together pipelines that carried oil beneath the ground. He could make anything out of iron, a swing set for a playground, a flagpole, a bicycle rack, even a ring with my brother's initials.
My father was an American Indian, a member of the Choctaw Nation of Oklahoma.
My grandmother, called Muzz by most and Mawmaw by some, grew acres of vegetables and raised chickens, both for the meat and for the eggs. She was also an Oklahoma Choctaw. As a child she attended an Indian boarding school, where she was punished for speaking her language, the Choctaw language. She was determined that all of her children graduate from high school, which they did.
My Aunt Juanita was Choctaw, too, an American Indian like my dad. She married a dairyman with a hundred cattle. They lived in Cypress Fairbanks, west of Houston. My Choctaw uncles Billy and Boyd played football at the University of Houston before becoming coaches, Billy at Spring Branch and Boyd at Freeport, Texas.
I always knew we were Choctaws, but as a child I never understood that we were *Indians.* The movies and books about Indians showed Indians on horseback. My family drove cars and pickup trucks. Movie Indians lived in teepees. We lived in modern houses. Indians in books and on television hunted with bows and arrows. My father and my uncles hunted, too, with shotguns, but mostly they fished. They kept my grandmother's freezer filled with fish from Galveston Bay.
Were we real Indians? Yes. We still are real Indians, modern Indians. Like many Americans, we celebrate our history, our Choctaw-American history. We know our history never included teepees or buffaloes. We were people of the woods and swamps of what is now called Mississippi.
Choctaws had gardens and farms, lived in wooden houses; the education of our young was always very important. This has been true for hundreds of years. Young men served in the Choctaw military, not as braves or warriors, but as highly respected defenders of our homes and towns.
Long before explorers arrived from Europe, we had a government, a Choctaw national government. We selected local and national leaders. We recognized women as equal citizens. In truth, women were the principal landowners, so it could be said that *women recognized men as equal citizens*. My grandmother's natural guidance of the Tingle family is a continuation of this tradition, with women as leaders.
In 1830, the Choctaw Nation was forced to move west in a great American tragedy, the Trail of Tears. In many ways the story *Saltypie* is a continuation of this trauma of removal. When my grandmother felt the sting of a stone thrown by a young man who knew nothing about her, only that she was Indian, the fears returned. People respond to trauma in many ways, but a very natural response is to cling to family.
As a book of family bonding, *Saltypie* will touch the hearts of readers. Passing references to the Indian boarding school experience and the Trail of Tears will sound familiar to many. But there is a nagging problem in *Saltypie*: the boy throwing the stone. Who is *he* and why is he doing that?
I feel that I should motion to you now, quietly and in tiny gestures unseen by anyone else, so I can share a whispered secret, a secret only a few outside of Indian Country even suspect. Are you ready? Ok. *Listen closely*. Indians know of many wrongs done to them and their friends and relatives that we seldom speak about. When Indian storytellers and writers get together, we often ask, "How much can we tell them?"
How much can we tell them before they cover their ears and refuse to listen to our stories? Many non-Indian people have difficulty believing that bigotry could still be alive, or could ever have been alive, in the settling of our nation, in our dealings with Indians.
Who is that boy and why did he throw that stone?
*What do you think of these things?--*While some Indians were savages, most Indians were gentle lovers of nature. Indians dressed in beautiful beaded animal skins and eagle feathers. Most Indians followed the buffalo, ate the buffalo, and lived in teepees made from the buffalo. Indians were brave but unable to survive in the modern world. We saved the Indian. We educated the Indian. Most children's literature available in libraries today promotes these stereotypes. Make no mistake; these *are* stereotypes.
"How much can we tell them?"
Can we tell them that the vast majority of children's books written about Indians in America were not written by Indians? Can we somehow convince them that this matters?
I know. To many readers this thought is new.
Here is an idea, a simple one. To teachers and parents who want to help displace the stereotypes about American Indian people, at some point during the reading of *Saltypie*, ask your listeners, "What do Indians wear?"
Smile and nod at the answers. *Mocassins, feathers, beads, animal skins*. Then tell your students and children, in your own words, "If I were you, I would have probably said the same. But your answers are not correct." Then hold the book up for students to see, any page will do.
"This is what Indians wear. Indians are modern people." Enjoy the sound of your voice saying these words. The sound of spoken truth is beautiful and strong.
If the dialogue about American Indians is to have any true importance, it must begin with this understanding: Indians are modern people. Indians serve in the United States military, as soldiers, sailors, and marines. Indians are schoolteachers, lawyers, businessmen and women, home builders, doctors, and writers.
So, who is that boy and why did he throw the stone?
Maybe it was a stone of misunderstanding, thrown by a boy who simply didn't know. He didn't know that Indians are Americans, that Indians are modern people, that Indians are friendly neighbors who love their families, their homes, and care about education. If we can assume he didn't know, let us forgive him. Let us teach his grandchildren, so they will pocket their stones and extend a hand in friendship.
In 1963 President John F. Kennedy said, "For a subject worked and reworked so often in novels, motion pictures, and television, American Indians are the least understood and the most misunderstood of us all."
Might we now begin--one parent, one child, one teacher, one classroom at a time--a real and more truthful education about American Indians.
We are a nation dedicated to the freedoms so aptly voiced in the Bill of Rights. Freedom is for all Americans, for all colors and blends, for all beliefs. We, as a people, celebrate the revealing of previously hidden truths. If wrong exists, we want to know it. We want to change it. If wrongs existed in the history of our nation, we want to hear of them. And why? My Choctaw friend Tony Byars, an Indian boarding school attendee and celebrated United States Marine, said it best. "We want to know of these wrongs," said Tony, "so they will never happen again."
Now is a great time to be an American Indian.
Date: Thu, 20 Feb 2014 11:45:20 -0700
This essay, written by Tim Tingle, appeared at the end of his picture book, *Saltypie, A Choctaw Journey from Darkness Into Light. *Written several years ago, it has much to do with the *New York Times *article posted as part of this discussion.
*How Much Can We Tell Them?*
My father was the finest welder I ever knew. He welded together pipelines that carried oil beneath the ground. He could make anything out of iron, a swing set for a playground, a flagpole, a bicycle rack, even a ring with my brother's initials.
My father was an American Indian, a member of the Choctaw Nation of Oklahoma.
My grandmother, called Muzz by most and Mawmaw by some, grew acres of vegetables and raised chickens, both for the meat and for the eggs. She was also an Oklahoma Choctaw. As a child she attended an Indian boarding school, where she was punished for speaking her language, the Choctaw language. She was determined that all of her children graduate from high school, which they did.
My Aunt Juanita was Choctaw, too, an American Indian like my dad. She married a dairyman with a hundred cattle. They lived in Cypress Fairbanks, west of Houston. My Choctaw uncles Billy and Boyd played football at the University of Houston before becoming coaches, Billy at Spring Branch and Boyd at Freeport, Texas.
I always knew we were Choctaws, but as a child I never understood that we were *Indians.* The movies and books about Indians showed Indians on horseback. My family drove cars and pickup trucks. Movie Indians lived in teepees. We lived in modern houses. Indians in books and on television hunted with bows and arrows. My father and my uncles hunted, too, with shotguns, but mostly they fished. They kept my grandmother's freezer filled with fish from Galveston Bay.
Were we real Indians? Yes. We still are real Indians, modern Indians. Like many Americans, we celebrate our history, our Choctaw-American history. We know our history never included teepees or buffaloes. We were people of the woods and swamps of what is now called Mississippi.
Choctaws had gardens and farms, lived in wooden houses; the education of our young was always very important. This has been true for hundreds of years. Young men served in the Choctaw military, not as braves or warriors, but as highly respected defenders of our homes and towns.
Long before explorers arrived from Europe, we had a government, a Choctaw national government. We selected local and national leaders. We recognized women as equal citizens. In truth, women were the principal landowners, so it could be said that *women recognized men as equal citizens*. My grandmother's natural guidance of the Tingle family is a continuation of this tradition, with women as leaders.
In 1830, the Choctaw Nation was forced to move west in a great American tragedy, the Trail of Tears. In many ways the story *Saltypie* is a continuation of this trauma of removal. When my grandmother felt the sting of a stone thrown by a young man who knew nothing about her, only that she was Indian, the fears returned. People respond to trauma in many ways, but a very natural response is to cling to family.
As a book of family bonding, *Saltypie* will touch the hearts of readers. Passing references to the Indian boarding school experience and the Trail of Tears will sound familiar to many. But there is a nagging problem in *Saltypie*: the boy throwing the stone. Who is *he* and why is he doing that?
I feel that I should motion to you now, quietly and in tiny gestures unseen by anyone else, so I can share a whispered secret, a secret only a few outside of Indian Country even suspect. Are you ready? Ok. *Listen closely*. Indians know of many wrongs done to them and their friends and relatives that we seldom speak about. When Indian storytellers and writers get together, we often ask, "How much can we tell them?"
How much can we tell them before they cover their ears and refuse to listen to our stories? Many non-Indian people have difficulty believing that bigotry could still be alive, or could ever have been alive, in the settling of our nation, in our dealings with Indians.
Who is that boy and why did he throw that stone?
*What do you think of these things?--*While some Indians were savages, most Indians were gentle lovers of nature. Indians dressed in beautiful beaded animal skins and eagle feathers. Most Indians followed the buffalo, ate the buffalo, and lived in teepees made from the buffalo. Indians were brave but unable to survive in the modern world. We saved the Indian. We educated the Indian. Most children's literature available in libraries today promotes these stereotypes. Make no mistake; these *are* stereotypes.
"How much can we tell them?"
Can we tell them that the vast majority of children's books written about Indians in America were not written by Indians? Can we somehow convince them that this matters?
I know. To many readers this thought is new.
Here is an idea, a simple one. To teachers and parents who want to help displace the stereotypes about American Indian people, at some point during the reading of *Saltypie*, ask your listeners, "What do Indians wear?"
Smile and nod at the answers. *Mocassins, feathers, beads, animal skins*. Then tell your students and children, in your own words, "If I were you, I would have probably said the same. But your answers are not correct." Then hold the book up for students to see, any page will do.
"This is what Indians wear. Indians are modern people." Enjoy the sound of your voice saying these words. The sound of spoken truth is beautiful and strong.
If the dialogue about American Indians is to have any true importance, it must begin with this understanding: Indians are modern people. Indians serve in the United States military, as soldiers, sailors, and marines. Indians are schoolteachers, lawyers, businessmen and women, home builders, doctors, and writers.
So, who is that boy and why did he throw the stone?
Maybe it was a stone of misunderstanding, thrown by a boy who simply didn't know. He didn't know that Indians are Americans, that Indians are modern people, that Indians are friendly neighbors who love their families, their homes, and care about education. If we can assume he didn't know, let us forgive him. Let us teach his grandchildren, so they will pocket their stones and extend a hand in friendship.
In 1963 President John F. Kennedy said, "For a subject worked and reworked so often in novels, motion pictures, and television, American Indians are the least understood and the most misunderstood of us all."
Might we now begin--one parent, one child, one teacher, one classroom at a time--a real and more truthful education about American Indians.
We are a nation dedicated to the freedoms so aptly voiced in the Bill of Rights. Freedom is for all Americans, for all colors and blends, for all beliefs. We, as a people, celebrate the revealing of previously hidden truths. If wrong exists, we want to know it. We want to change it. If wrongs existed in the history of our nation, we want to hear of them. And why? My Choctaw friend Tony Byars, an Indian boarding school attendee and celebrated United States Marine, said it best. "We want to know of these wrongs," said Tony, "so they will never happen again."
Now is a great time to be an American Indian.
--
Lee Byrd
*Cinco Puntos Press *
---
You are currently subscribed to ccbc-net as: ccbc-archive_at_post.education.wisc.edu.
To post to the list, send message to: ccbc-net_at_lists.wisc.edu
To receive messages in digest format, send a message to...
ccbc-net-request_at_lists.wisc.edu
...and include only this command in the body of the message:
set ccbc-net digest
CCBC-Net Archives
The CCBC-Net archives are available to all CCBC-Net listserv members. The archives are organized by month and year. A list of discussion topics (including month/year) is available at http://www.education.wisc.edu/ccbc/ccbcnet/archives.asp
To access the archives, go to:
http://ccbc.education.wisc.edu/ccbc-net
and enter the following:
username: ccbc-net
password: Look4Posts
Received on Thu 20 Feb 2014 12:45:46 PM CST
