apache | doctor | nurse | mom | teacher
My husband was the guy in charge of dropping the kids off at school until early this year, when I took over. It was my turn, really. It turns out it's a lot of fun- more fun than I realized. When I used to do it- when he was out of town or had a morning meeting- it was always something I had to fit into an already busy day, usually crammed into my commute. I hated it. But now that it's just part of my day, I am really enjoying it. One of the things I like to do is send them off with a little note in their head, a little mom-ism. As they get out of the car, I'll say something, Coach Taylor style. I often contemplate actually saying, "Clear eyes! Full Hearts! Can't Lose!" to them, partly because they would have no idea where it came from and one day they would find out it was from Friday Night Lights and it would be just another one of those weird things that mom did. I don't say it, mostly because I never remember the full saying, and end up with something like "Clear Eyes! Empty Bowels! Can't Pee! uh... Have a great day! I love you!" Today I told one child that he is going to rock and roll all night (and party every day). The other child was slow to get out of the car, so as he was gathering his things I started small, telling him he was going to "tear it apart." As he opened the door, he was going to "shred it!" (volume increases). By the time he was out of the car and slamming the door, I yelled after him that he would "rip their heads off!!!" The second child- the shredder- his school has a rolling drop off. It is a preschool through 6th grade, so usually there is a teacher waiting by the door when he gets out of the car. They have discouraged us in the past from telling our children to "have a good day," because this is fairly meaningless. They encourage other positive sayings, like, "work hard!" I generally support this. I am not sure what they think of my supporting his use of violence to achieve this objective. It is a Montessori school, so... We have been going skiing lately, the boys and I. The price of candy at the ski lodge is nearly equivalent to movie theater prices, so I like to bring our own when I remember. We still have Halloween candy, because my kids really only care about the hunt. Once Halloween is over, we have bags of candy that hang around the house for a few seasons until we shove it into plastic Easter eggs and give to our friends for their annual hunt. We do eat some of in the winter, packing it in the car to enjoy après ski during the car ride down the mountain (ahhh, the joys of living in a ski town. do you like how I so casually talk about going skiing like everyone does this? total #humblebrag, right? We are the NDN middle class and proud of it.). As a result of this whole candy situation, we currently have a gallon-sized ziplock bag of candy sitting on the backseat of my car. This means, when my kid opens the door at drive-through drop-off, the teachers at his Montessori hear his mother yelling some aggressive craziness as he climbs over a huge bag full of party-sized snickers and three musketeers treats, wrappers flying everywhere. I'm sure we leave a great impression. Speaking of Halloween... Last fall I purchased a unicorn onesie from Target. I don't want to overstate just how wonderful, how magical this unicorn onesie is. White, with a big gold star in the middle and a hood bearing a ridiculously small horn and rainbow mane, and it is fleece so it's warm, double bonus. One day in October I wore it to drop the kids off at school. The older boy, he got into the car, looked at me and smiled. He was all in. The younger kid was completely distracted when he got into the car. His motivation for getting to the car in time for us to get to school is that he gets to play on the iPad, so he didn't even look. This means we were waiting in line for drop off at his school when he looked up and saw my unicorn horn. He got a very funny smile on his face. "Why are you wearing that?" I tried to play it cool. "What?" I replied. Like everyone wears a unicorn onesie to drop their kid off to school. "That?!" He tried to look irritated, but fifth graders don't necessarily pull off the amused-yet-irritated thing well. "I don't know what you mean?" I responded. "It was cold out, so I thought I would wear something a little warmer. You know, with a hood?" He scoffed in mock disgust. Then he got out of the car for school. "Clear hearts! Open eyes! Be awesome!" I yelled after him. He pretended he didn't know the crazy woman driving his Lyft. I went straight home and bought two more onesies. A unicorn is awesome. A unicorn, a dragon, and a raccoon? yesssssss.
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I took my kids to see our local orchestra perform. It was a magical performance, the kind where you linger a few minutes after the house lights have gone up because you just don’t want the music to end. After it became clear that the volunteer ushers were tired of us wasting their time and they wanted to go home, sit down, and watch Matlock, we gathered our coats, gloves, programs, books, devices, hats, and the kitchen sink (we don't travel light), and headed toward the exit. On the way to our car we passed a new bakery. I was still feeling a little high from the music and therefore generous, so I suggested we poke our heads in and see if there was anything we might enjoy- maybe to prolong the good feeling just a little longer, or maybe we could get something yummy for tomorrow’s breakfast. No croissants, but they did have a very appealing selection of macarons. We waited in the very short line, then each boy selected two macarons. As I began the quick payment transaction, I noticed with only a small bit of irritation that I was standing along-side a woman who had maybe not noticed the line of people waiting for their turn? While we had patiently waited in line then worked with the shopkeeper, this woman had walked into the shop and went directly to the register to make her order. The woman was older than me by more than a few years. She had tastefully colored blond hair, cleanly applied is-it-or-isn't-it make-up, and she was wearing clothes that were comfortable, stylish, and flattering. It takes money to get the holy trinity of fashion- that combo does not come from Target. The shopkeeper began to tell me what I owed him for the cookies when we heard the unmistakable sound of Native American drumming, some Native American men were drumming and singing- essentially busking- not far from the bakery, We could hear it in the shop, mixing in with the general street sounds of Santa Fe. People do this from time to time here, trying to make a little money from the tourists. The woman next to me whispered loudly to everyone in the bakery with that delighted wonder in her voice that tourists get when they believe like they’re experiencing something special, “There are Indians outside!” Without pause, I responded, “They’re inside too…” At this point, I was just trying to pay for my damn macarons. I handed my $20 over to the shop-keeper. The woman looked over to me with a surprised look on her face. I waited a beat then added, “...we’re everywhere!” The cashier counted out my change, stone-faced. I took my macarons, and we exited the shop. The kids were very excited, in an "OH SNAP!" kind of way. They were delighted, and smug. I don't often have opportunities to actively confront racism in public, in front of my kids. This was one of those times where I could not stop myself. Although it is hard for me, I do feel it is my responsibility as a parent to demonstrate for my kids just what it means to be a merciless Indian savage. I only hope I will always step up to the challenge when the opportunities arise.
This week, on This American Life… Ira Glass drilled straight down to my Gen X molten chocolate lava covered core. In Act II of the podcast (always podcast, never live radio show!), Neil Drumming and Breeze Brewin reminisce about the coveted General Lee toy, the ultimate merchandising magic from the Dukes of Hazzard TV show. I won’t say more about the story, you can listen for yourself, but it made me think about all the forbidden toys and other delights from my own childhood. For example, my brother and I weren’t allowed to watch Dukes of Hazzard- I don’t know why, but it probably had something to do with Daisy Duke and her ridiculous costume, and I bet the prominent display of the confederate flag didn’t help.
I also wasn’t allowed to play with Barbie dolls. My mother refused to allow them into our house, the closest I came was the de-sexed Skipper doll. Skipper sucked because my friends’ Barbie clothes didn’t fit her, she couldn’t wear the heels, and she was super boring. While Barbie was off rubbing boobs with all her wild-haired girlfriends and then peeling out in her hot pink Jeep with Ken sitting stiffly beside her, Skipper was trapped in the dream house doing Malibu Barbie’s algebra homework and trying to figure out how the elevator worked. My mom did give me her old dolls from the 1950’s, but of course the clothes didn’t fit, and they had these funky 1950’s hairdos that couldn’t be combed. I wasn’t really a doll kid anyway, but any interest in Barbies died a quick death when that Skipper doll showed up in my stocking. Worst. Little. Sister. Ever. You’re probably starting to see a theme here. My mom was the modern woman who doesn’t want her daughter to grow up with a distorted body image shaped by society’s impossible images of women, imposed and imprinted from a young age. If I had been born in 2002, I would have only worn primary colors and had a name that expressed my cultural and ethnic identity without revealing my gender identity. Of course, the big question from all this is, did all this second wave feminist parenting make a difference? Was I able to grow up free from the constraints of the idealized woman? Have I lived free of self-hate, embracing my body for what it is, every inch of whatever bag of skin I ended up with? Put simply, no. I may have had disdain for Chrissy, Janet, and then whoever it was who replaced Chrissy like we didn’t notice. If anything, I had the opposite. I was incredibly modest (which may have been cultural- who knows when you’re urban), but as a teen I wouldn’t even wear a v-neck blouse because it was too revealing. The forbidden toys of my generation went by the wayside, and now I’m a parent. My boys don’t have much in the way of forbidden toys. We didn’t have a no-guns policy, because I’m Apache, so much of our history includes warfare, and it wasn’t really an issue anyway. The only rule with guns was you couldn’t point them at people, which takes all the fun out of it, so why bother. Save for an occasional Nerf war (pointing allowed), the kids just don’t care about guns and never have. Also, most of their friends had a gun prohibition so it didn’t come up much. We limit their screen time, and they haven’t really shown interest in gory video games so that’s been an easy one. We did have to buy a lock-box at one point because there was a certain amount of sneaking around at night trying to find the ipad, but the lock-box put a stop to that. Ira Glass didn’t resolve the forbidden toys question for me, and I’m not doing a very good job either. If playing with a specific toy really shaped a kid into their adult selves, I think someone needs to launch a lawsuit against a certain toy company whose name rhymes with battel (and markets two of the toys mentioned prominently in this post). *My brother says he could watch all these shows. History, memories- who knows. He is 4 years older than me, and male. It’s very likely he could watch them, but I couldn’t.
It was the second week of school. My 10-year-old son cleared his dinner plate, rubbed the cat’s belly, then dropped one of those tiny little bombs, as they do. “My Spanish teacher has a play tipi in her classroom.” He’s my second son. I don’t want to say I’ve been to this rodeo before, but, well, I’ve been to this rodeo before. Fifth-grade boys are wonderful creatures. They are still children, wanting very much to believe in magic and the amazing possibilities of the universe, yet they are pragmatic thinkers who are working on the complex puzzles of human interaction and the existential universal truths of personhood. Or maybe that’s just my kids because the apple doesn’t fall far from the tree. Either way, there is a good reason Harry Potter received his letter from Hogwarts on his 11th birthday. One of the parenting challenges with boys this age is that they can be slightly feral. There are times when they want very much to be the little boys they once were, nesting on your lap and being comforted by your warmth. Yet they are starting to feel this new itch that is telling them to stretch out, broaden their circle, think new thoughts, try new things, court danger. From my side, I feel as though I might spook them if I act too quickly, take too much notice, assert too much mom-ness. I have learned that it is in my best interest to act aloof, even when I am so curious my head and heart are aching to go all Sherlock Holmes. So when B told me about this new classroom prop, I tried to play it on the DL. I ignored him. “Did you take a bath last night?” “Yes. I don’t need a bath.” “Are you sure? I think you need a bath.” “I’ll take one tomorrow morning.” “How big is the tipi?” “It’s one of those ones that little kids can play in.” “Are you sure it’s a tipi?” “Yes.” “I don’t think you did take a bath last night.” “Yes I did.” “How do you know it’s a tipi?” “It has all these stupid things drawn on the outside that don’t make any sense.” “Do you want to read before bed?” “Yes.” “What is the tipi for?” “I think it’s for the little kids to play in.” “Let’s get your book and we can read in the living room.” I thought about the tipi all weekend. As I thought, I began composing the email I needed to send to the school’s principal, asking to have the tipi removed. Whenever I am writing an email in my head over and over, I know I need to act. On Monday, I sent an email to the principal explaining the situation. My son came to me this weekend to talk about something at school that was on his mind. He commented that there is a tipi in the Spanish classroom. He described it as a small but human-sized tipi, with markings on the exterior, small enough for children to fit in, set up as a place for people to sit in. Ben doesn't have the language to name cultural appropriation in all its guises, but it is something that we discuss, particularly around Halloween in the context of costumes. He identified this item as such and we discussed its presence in the classroom. I have not seen this item, so I am only going by what my son has told me. I did ask him if it wasn't just something that looked a bit like a tipi but wasn't a tipi, he said it was definitely a tipi. Our tribe uses tipis as ceremonial structures, particularly for puberty ceremonies, which are among the most sacred of all the events that we attend and participate. It is not considered an appropriate or acceptable practice within my tribe or in other tribes I know of to construct a child-sized tipi, adorn it with any symbols, or leave it up for playtime. I know that there are mass-marketed tipis made for purchase on the market- a simple google search will provide you with zillions of affordable toy tipis for all the classrooms in town, none of which would be appropriate. If indeed this item is one of these toy tipis, do you think you could speak with the Spanish teacher about removing the tipi? There are a number of reasons for this that I won't go into in this email, but suffice it to say, if my son felt it was something worth bringing to my attention, I feel it's worth bringing to your attention. I am happy to discuss this with you further if you wish, my cell # is XXX-XXXX- this is the best way to reach me. Respectfully, Emily To her credit, the principal responded soon after I sent the email. She confirmed the presence of the tipi, stating she would speak with the teacher and ask to have the tipi removed. She also asked me to come in and talk with the 5th and 6th grade students about cultural appropriation, making this a learning experience for everyone. After a discussion with the Spanish teacher, the principal forwarded me an email from her, in which the teacher explained that the Spanish teacher had the tipi in the classroom as part of her lesson plan on state history for the 5th and 6th grade students. The intention was to educate the students and enrich their cultural awareness. They invited me to “chat” with the Spanish teacher about her plans to use the tipi in the classroom. In case you, gentle reader, aren’t familiar with these toys, here’s a link to a great example of cultural appropriation in action using one of these charming items as a playhouse in a well-furnished home. My sons know tipis as structures used only during traditional and sacred ceremonies. Our tribe doesn’t and hasn’t used tipis for housing, we used wickiups. Other tribes might have used them in our state, but the use is unusual at best, except for ceremonial use. No Native I know makes child-sized tipis for use inside their homes, and I’ve never, ever, ever seen a tipi with random and meaningless quasi-tribal looking designs on the outside, made to look Native-ish. To do that would be to make a serious statement, perhaps someone might do it as an art piece as a commentary on the state of indigenous culture today. They might also dress up in a fake buckskin mini-dress that showed a lot of cleavage and had painted turkey feathers for decoration. After reading the emails and thinking on the matter, I decided that I didn’t need to speak with the Spanish teacher. My son was uncomfortable with the tipi, I freaking hate the things, and I can’t imagine how something like this could possibly fit into a 1-2 hour/week class conducted in Spanish taught to English-speaking children. I pay for private school so I can have some say in my kids’ education, and I decided this was a time to exercise that Native American privilege. I emailed the principal back. I told her that I appreciated her leadership in this matter. I wrote that my son’s experience with the tipi was not from an educational perspective. I gave some historical context to the use of tipis in the state, explaining why I felt the Spanish teacher's explanation was inadequate. I said I was comforted knowing the teacher was sensitive to my request to have the tipi removed from the classroom. Then I responded to the principal’s invitation to have me speak to the children about cultural appropriation. I wanted to write to her that I believed it shouldn’t be the responsibility of the parents of color to take on the difficult work of educating the student body on race, that this singles out the children of these parents, and it allows the faculty and the other parents to ignore their biases and areas of ignorance. But I didn’t write that. Instead, I wrote the following: “I am not a trained elementary school educator, I feel this is not my place and I prefer to leave conversations with children about difficult topics of race to the school. I am comfortable talking about race and issues of intersectionality with my own children, but I don't feel I have the sensitivity to meet the needs of all the students were I to come to the classroom and present on this topic.” This is all true. I can see my words travelling home to the parents of those children who have worn culturally inappropriate costumes at past Halloween events and causing a terrific stir. I am the parent who talks about racism, sexism, ableism, homophobia, and other important topics with her children. I haven’t ever tried to “protect” my children from these topics because I cannot protect them. They have always needed to tools to understand their world, which is filled with racism, sexism, homophobia, and so on. If only I had the luxury of worrying about when to talk about police violence with my sons. This is why my 10-year-old sees a racist item in his classroom and he calls it out. But I can’t speak my truth and protect white fragility at the same time. It’s not fair to my kids- and to be totally honest, it’s not fair to me. The next week, I waited until a few days after my son's Spanish class had passed, then I tried to casually insert the tipi into a conversation. Of course, he didn't get the hint. He's 10. So I flat out asked him if it was still in the classroom. It was, but it was no longer set up, now it's leaning against the wall. So it's not being used for his class, but I have no way of knowing if the other Native American children in the school have to also deal with this ridiculous and offensive disaster. I asked to have it removed from the classroom, and that hadn't happened last I asked. I ran this issue past a friend who used to be the director of a similar small private school. She was shocked this was even an issue. Of course you wouldn't allow a teacher to erect a play tipi in the classroom, she said. And then she apologized that I even had to bring this to the principal's attention. It's not even her school, and she apologized. Which is what I wish the principal had done in the first place. Categories |
AuthorI'm a Chiricahua Fort Sill Apache Nurse Researcher. I write, speak, and think about health equity and parenting in our complicated world. Archives
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