End Of The Trail

Growing up being raised by only one parent has many challenges, and one of them is only knowing one half of your heritage. My mom, who raised me, is a hazel eyed blonde who’s bloodlines come from several different European origins. My father was Native American, and all I knew was what tribe he was a member of. That’s it. As a young child it never meant much to me. My mom took me to a few pow wows, and would tell me that I would run out into the center of the arena and dance with all the dancers as if I had been doing it my entire life. It wasn’t until I was 16 years old did things start to change for me with that side of my background. We moved from California to Boise, Idaho at the beginning of the summer of 1992, and we found out about a pow wow that was happening near by that was looking for someone to help get the event ready by taking the bark off of the lodge poles for several teepees. They were offering to feed, house(in a teepee), and give free entrance to the event for anyone interested in the job. I jumped on it, as long as I could take my dog with me. It was an outdoor event not far outside of the city. People were camping at the event, and there was a river near by to cool off as well as rinse the day’s work off if needed. So I grabbed my Australian Shephard, Tyler, and off we went to work for a few days then explore the pow wow.

The work wasn’t hard, but it took quite some time. Each teepee had 15 poles, and were about 25 feet long each. There were 10 teepees to put up, so that meant 150 poles to debark. The most challenging part of the whole thing was dealing with the blisters that arose pretty quickly because I didn’t have any gloves. Other than that it was actually kind of nice, I’d just get into a rhythm and go, and since I didn’t know anybody yet I’d just drop into the zone. It was meditative. A super cool part of the gig was that I got to sleep in a teepee while at the event, and I had never done that before. These were huge teepees, about 20 feet in diameter, and about the same in height. I never realized how much room they have inside them, and all I had was a sleeping bag and a small duffle of clothes. Another awesome aspect of the teepee is you can see the stars at night through the smoke flaps at the top. Due to the teepees being brand new, and I had never been in one before, a fire wasn’t allowed inside it, so I would just stare at the night sky while getting ready to sleep.

The pow wow itself was an incredibly good time. Sure, I had been to a few in the past, but this was a whole other level because not only was I there from start to finish, I was in the inner circle of people putting the event on so I got to meet all the families, drum groups, and dancers, and I made friends immediately with some of them. There was one family in particular that I connected with- a woman named Rose and her son Brock, who was a couple of years younger than I was. He and Rose took me under their wing, and showed me the dos and don’ts of not only being a spectator but also a participant of the pow wow. It was awesome, I got to ask any and all questions that I had, ate all the food that was offered, got to know the culture a lot deeper than I had ever had in the past, and I had a blast doing it. But the most life changing thing that happened there was definitely meeting Rose and Brock. As soon as the pow wow was over I started going over to their ranch, helping them with moving the irrigation pipes in the morning, exploring the country with Brock, and learning about ‘the ways’ of the people. They taught me how to make my own dance regalia, and what I couldn’t do Rose would do for me. They also taught me how to dance as well as sing. We even started our own drum group called Southern Wind, and started going to pow wows together as a group. They included me in lots of ceremonies including many sweat lodges, some of them led by leaders of the Native American community. That time we spent together was very special to me, and I will remember it for the rest of my life.

Not long after I started singing & dancing at pow wows did I start to realize that I wasn’t really accepted by most of the other Native Americans. There were some, but not many, and it was a difficult experience for me. Sure, I wasn’t full blooded, my mom was white, and I wasn’t raised on a reservation. But none of that was in my control, and I didn’t understand why I wasn’t accepted by the community. It meant so much to me, I enjoyed it tremendously, it had awakened something within me that I had never felt before. But I would never be a true member of the group, and I felt that. Rose and Brock were family, and there were others too. But when I was at a pow wow the glaring eyes were uncountable, not once did I ever receive any recognition for dancing or singing, and I was pretty good at them. They were competitive events and I’m not trying to suggest I should’ve gotten first place at all of them. But some I could have, and I definitely could’ve placed at a lot of them. But I didn’t, not once, and I knew exactly why - I was white to them. Sure, I was an enrolled member of my tribe, and was carrying eagle feathers (something only enrolled members of a Native American tribe can do), but I was just another white boy trying to fit in, and that feeling was unescapable.

Jasmine sitting between my legs during my last time around a drum

Half a dozen years later, as fate would have it, after participating in lots of pow wows at different reservations all over Idaho, Utah, and Nevada, as well as performing in many events, in 1998, I moved back to California, and my pow wow days were over. Not from the lack of effort, I tried to be a part of the community in Los Angeles by reaching out to a couple of different organizations, hoping to continue dancing and singing in a drum group, but the unacceptance followed me there, and going it alone was just too daunting for me as a young adult at the age of 22. Ironically enough, the last pow wow that I danced and sang at was the same one that I went to when I first moved to Idaho, and I had invited all of my friends that I had made during my 6 years in Idaho. It was a blast, the funnest time I had ever had at a pow wow, and I couldn’t have asked for a better send off. Sadly, that was the last time I sat around a drum. There have been a handful of occasions where someone has asked me to dance for a performance, but since then I haven’t had the pleasure of being a part of a drum group, and I miss that experience something fierce.

Fast forward 24 years to the summer of 2022; my family and I planned a trip to go see my mom who had been living in Oklahoma. She lived just a couple of hours drive away from my tribe’s headquarters, and since we’d be so close we decided to visit it while we were there. It was the first time I’d ever been to visit my tribe of which I had been an enrolled member for 30 years now, and since Sequoia was an enrolled member of the tribe as well I thought it would be special for her to see that side of her heritage. Our tribe, Lenni-Lenape, the Delaware Tribe of Indians, “Lenape” for short, didn’t have a reservation like a lot of the other tribes, they only have a headquarters. The Lenape were moved to Oklahoma on what has been called the “Trail of Tears” from their homelands of Southeast New York, New Jersey, Delaware, and Eastern Pennsylvania, along with many other tribes. It was called the “Trail of Tears” due to the fact that the people were not only forced out of their homes, but were made to walk this treacherous journey of over 1,000 miles. Needless to say, many of which did not make it to the destination. There was a total of 17 tribes moved on the Trail of Tears - Choctaw, Creek, Seminole, Chickasaw, and the Cherokee to name a few. The Lenape headquarters in Bartlesville, Oklahoma has a cultural center that I was very interested in visiting since most of the traditions I was exposed to during my time in Idaho were from tribes other than my own, and it could be a special time for Sequoia and I to share - we could learn about our tribe together.

Getting everybody in my family together to take the drive to Bartlesville ended up being more difficult than I had imagined. There was a total of 7 people that needed to ride in 2 separate vehicles, and we had to push back our time to go by a day, now going on the Friday before the 4th of July weekend. I called the headquarters to make sure they were going to be open that Friday, and they said they were. So the next morning, after a late breakfast, the group rallied, and we set off around noon to see, learn about, and meet some of my tribe. It was very exciting for me. Throughout the years I had met members of the tribe here and there, but to be able to visit the now home of my people was exhilarating, to say the least. We arrived at the headquarters at 3pm, and it was a large complex with several different buildings, a large field, and a pond in the middle of it. We headed straight for the cultural center, parked, and went to the door. It was locked. There was another door down the building, and it was locked too. We knocked on the door, but no response. So we then went to the main office, and it was locked as well. Strange. We didn’t even see a single person inside as I peered through the glass doors. However, through the first door I could see on the second door inside a sign that said there was a tribal barbecue that day at 4pm around the pond. But there wasn’t a single person at the pond either. My step dad and aunt had to use the restroom, and we saw people going in and out of the building that was the child development center so we headed over there to see if they could use it, as well as find out if there’s anybody around that might be able to help us. Being a member of the tribe, I went first to find out. The first door was open, but the second was locked, and since I could see people in there I waved someone down to open the door. The woman opened the door just enough to get her voice through telling us they were closed to visitors. I asked if my step dad, being an elderly man in his 80’s, could use the bathroom, and she told me to wait as she asked someone if that was ok. I mentioned that I’m a tribal member, to see if that would help, but she didn’t acknowledge it, and closed the door. She came back a few moments later and said it was fine, he could use the restroom. My aunt piggybacked the request and used it as well. I asked the woman if the main office was open, and she said she didn’t know. We weren’t invited in to escape the 105 degree heat, nor was there any curiosity on who I was. Which struck me odd since I was a part of the tribe. So, we all waited for the restroom stop to be finished, including the lady who had let them in, who appeared to be standing guard at the door, and when they were done the door was quickly locked behind us. Granted, I was the only one in our party that looked like could have some native blood in them - my wife, daughter, mom, step dad, aunt, and uncle in law either had blonde or white hair, so I gave them the benefit of the doubt that they could’ve thought we were just a bunch of white folk, I don’t  know, loitering around a tribal headquarters..? Seemed strange, and not welcoming, to say the least. But ok, whatever. I have no idea of how things go around here, and their paranoia could be warranted.

In front of our tribal HQ.

As we were walking back to our cars to leave, Sequoia and Megan decided to go take some pictures underneath the tribal flagpoles that had a wooden statue of a bison underneath them. As we were doing that we spotted a man walking out of the main office building in our direction. He asked if he could help us, and my mom said that I was an enrolled member of the tribe, and we had driven out from California to visit the headquarters which appears to be closed. He said he was the chief of the tribe, so my mom called me over to meet him. Chief KillsCrow was a tall man, probably in his late 40’s to early 50’s, and proceeded to tell us that he closed the offices early that day in observation of the upcoming holiday. We told him that we drove from California, hoping by hearing that he’d arrange a quick tour for some visiting tribal members, but all he did was ask if we could come back the following week. We said we were leaving for home the next day, and weren’t sure when we’d be back to Oklahoma. He said, and I quote “well, thanks for coming out.” Then Sequoia, bless her little heart, asked “what about the barbecue, can we go to that?”. To which the chief answered with silence and a blank stare. After an extremely uncomfortable silence, I told Sequoia that we needed to head back to my mom’s house since it was such a long drive. The chief said, again, “thanks for coming out.”, and then drove over to the pond for the barbecue where there were now 15-20 people starting to gather. As we drove by the gathering Sequoia said she really wanted to go, and we said we couldn’t because we weren’t invited. That crushed me. Thanks, chief KillJoy. You really know how to make people feel welcome. Especially an extremely cute little girl. Well done, bruh. You’re lame.

Ever since I was 16 years old and had been living connected to Native Americans, in one way, shape, or form, I hadn’t ever felt accepted by the community, and it meant so much to me. Everything about it resonating within me- the singing, the dancing, the sweat lodges, the food, the tradition, the connection to the Creator, everything, and I might as well have been one of the first settlers coming across the western plains displacing the natives and taking their lands. Once again, there were some people here and there that opened their hearts to me, but I could probably count them on one hand. Even Rose and Brock had difficulty with this in their own lives since they were mixed bloods as well. But I thought if there was ever going to be a group that would accept me for who I am as a Native American man it was going to be my tribe, my people, how could it not be. Sadly, I was wrong. Not even my own fucking tribe. This day’s events proved that to me, and I was heartbroken the entire drive back to my mom’s house.

To be honest, it took me a couple of days to recover from that blow. But one thing that really helped was my belief in karma and destiny. To have been born a mixed breed makes me connected to the culture but not living in it. Which, as hard as it may be at times, has some advantages. The spirit is within me, is a part of all that I do, and is definitely a part of who I am. But it doesn’t define me, and definitions can be very limiting. My connection to that part of me is without limits, without boundaries, and I am free to float and live in-between both worlds. My family is my tribe, my friends & my students, and they will always be that for me. As they have been that for me all along, I just needed to have the search come to an end before I could truly see it.

This is the end of the trail of me trying to figure out where I fit in within my heritage. My connection to it is within my heart, and is expressed and experienced in every moment. This trail ends without any tears. It ends with knowing, strength, family, and love.

Aho.

Dancing at Sequoia’s school. The only time I dance these days, and I love that I get to share that with the kiddos.