“It’s a good day to be indigenous.”
- Smoke Signals
As you’ve probably seen on the news, Tuesday was the opening of the Smithsonian’s National Museum of the American Indian. As part of this, activities are planned all week to celebrate and commemorate the role of the Native American in history and modern society. Good friends of my family are Indians (we’ll call them the Forests) and are in town for the event. Dr. Forest is Coeur d’Alene and Mrs. Forest is Menomonee. They have four children, Greg, Luke, Sara and Kristen. (They buried a son at 13 from cancer more than 25 years ago. His name was Brian.) Luke is the one closest in age to me and I was in love with him from 5th through 8th grade. He wanted nothing to do with me and looking back at photos of myself in 1984 I can’t blame him. This Luke now, a doctor like his father, with his daughter Dana. His hair, worn in a braid, is almost to his waist. Merooow! How Indian!!
Anyway. We had dinner with them on Saturday, watched the Packer game at Mr. Days with them on Sunday, and on Tuesday Beck and I went down for the Native Nations Procession, a parade on the Mall of all the tribes represented or participating in the opening. I met them at 7:30 in the morning at the staging area for A-C, which was the best area because we were with the Aztecs and the Apaches who were out in force and full regalia. They were fired up dancing and drumming and whooping. Beck and I wandered through Z-D to get there. Seeing so many tribes together in celebration of what they have in common, it’s clear just how different Indians all are. Different history, practices, beliefs, traditional garb. Even physical features such as skin tone vary depending on region. I took some photos but none are as good as the ones posted here.
While we have known the Forests for more than twenty years, I never fully appreciated their native history or culture until my father died. Dad was fascinated by American Indian customs and was involved, through the Forests, in the Indian community in our city. In many ways he served as a respected elder to the Forest kids as we were growing up giving advice, helping them with resumes and first jobs, loaning money on the sly…
When Dad was diagnosed with his brain tumor, Dr. Forest was both friend and physician. Luke was just out of med school and Dad said that his tumor was a great way for him to get hands on experience. What an opportunity! Five months later Dad was gone from an unknown heart-related condition - - his brain fine.
The week of the funeral the Forests had us over for dinner to get us out of the house. Prior to our arrival, they had the house cleansed by the same medicine man that blessed a blanket to heal Dad. I’ll admit, the house felt different. It was peaceful, and quiet and we chatted and laughed for the first time.
The next night we borrowed from their traditions and set a place for Dad at the table. We ate our dinner, it was swordfish and asparagus with almond slivers – strange the things that you remember - - next to his. Afterwards my brother, the oldest son, took the food and spread it under trees in the backyard for animals to consume. Through them my father and his spirit would be returned to the earth.
The funeral mass was held at St. Mary’s and Dr. Forest gave the eulogy. As part of their tribute to Dad our friends had a tribal elder from the res sing an honor song. It was the most beautiful sound - - just an old man beating a drum and chanting in cadence. It was simple, and haunting, and truly an honor. We were sort of hoping the elder, who’s Indian name was something like “Bear Who Runs Through Woods With Wind Spirit at Back” but said, “Call me Joe,” would wear the traditional regalia such as buckskin and headdress. He did not. He wore jeans and a Dallas Cowboy’s jacket, which gave me an ill-timed case of the giggles. An Indian in a Cowboy’s jacket. On the alter of a Catholic Church. It was all so…so…it was all so my Dad. I’m sorry he missed it.
He was buried with a small leather satchet of symbolic items to carry with him on his journey into the next world. One last gift from Dr. Forest.
Indians are a proud people and despite long friendships there are still things that are not discussed. Including Greg’s death a few months ago from alcoholism, a modern plague among Indian peoples. He was 36. He is buried next to Brian.
And just so I don't leave on that because I haven't dealt fully with it myself, here is Beck's first Metro ride. (Yes. Our Metro system is terribly orange.)
