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re: After Abduction

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Message 1 of 9
In Response to post:

  Your story astounds me.  I tried to do some research on Native children who were stolen.  I didn't find anything similar to your case; but, I thought you might possibly be interested in these sites:


:http://digitalcommons.unl.edu/cgi/viewcontent.cgi?article=1009&context=historyfacpub


http://www.jewishvirtuallibrary.org/jsource/Holocaust/children.html


My friend Russ is a Hochunka man in his late eighties.  When he went to school in Wisconsin Native people had to go to separate schools.  What he remembers from school was doing a lot of marching.  He didn't learn to read.  In his late teens he enlisted in the army and was eventually sent to Australia.  He did a good job and his superiors wanted to promote him to captain.  He didn't want to do that; because, it would involve reading.  He didn't tell them he couldn't read.  He volounteered for the next available job.  That was parachute training.  The first time he ever flew in a plane he had to parachute out.


Hochunka is a relatively new name for his people.  French explorers originally called them Winnebago.  That means "land of stinking waters" in French.  Evidently  the people lived near a lake that would get stinky in the summer.  What a world we live in!


 

  Lzeenyo,


You might look into history of Mormon missions in Utah, who "gave" native children to families.  Also, there have been legal battles about forced assimilation in Canada, particularly in the West.


 


"Winnebago" is not a French word, it is Algonquin.  "Les eaux d'arome mauvais" might be a French translation of "stinking waters".


 


Many East coast and upper Ohio/Great Lakes tribes identify more with French because they mixed with the French populations more than with the Anglo, who had a different style and came along a little later.


 


 

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re: After Abduction

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Message 2 of 9
In Response to post:

  Your story astounds me.  I tried to do some research on Native children who were stolen.  I didn't find anything similar to your case; but, I thought you might possibly be interested in these sites:


:http://digitalcommons.unl.edu/cgi/viewcontent.cgi?article=1009&context=historyfacpub


http://www.jewishvirtuallibrary.org/jsource/Holocaust/children.html


My friend Russ is a Hochunka man in his late eighties.  When he went to school in Wisconsin Native people had to go to separate schools.  What he remembers from school was doing a lot of marching.  He didn't learn to read.  In his late teens he enlisted in the army and was eventually sent to Australia.  He did a good job and his superiors wanted to promote him to captain.  He didn't want to do that; because, it would involve reading.  He didn't tell them he couldn't read.  He volounteered for the next available job.  That was parachute training.  The first time he ever flew in a plane he had to parachute out.


Hochunka is a relatively new name for his people.  French explorers originally called them Winnebago.  That means "land of stinking waters" in French.  Evidently  the people lived near a lake that would get stinky in the summer.  What a world we live in!


 

I want to thank you for sharing those links.  


There hasn't been too much written about Native Americans by Native Americans that was taken seriously until faily recently. say the last 30 years.  Most of what was written was written from another perspective and much of it biased.  The stories of the stolen children went before congress.  The Indian Child Welfare Act came about. I did research in this area and connected personally with others. 


I have written and published some poetry and considered writing a novel but never considered writing a memoir.  Maybe I should write but I didn't think anyone would be interested in me and certainly not my story.  Writing it reads live a novel anyway.  With my unusual childhood experiences I don't expect anyone to believe it anyway.  I don't take myself seriously.  I suppose I am surprised people are enjoying reading my story.  I own it, lived with it and can't get rid of it.  I am the end result of those experiences for whatever that is worth.


Your Hochunk friend probably went to boarding school just for Native Americans.  My grandmother went to one.  It was not about education but about learning how to be a servant, maid, laundress, laborer, etc.  My grandmother got to grade 8 which was very advanced at that time.  She did read and write but not that well. 

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re: After Abduction

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Message 3 of 9
In Response to After Abduction:

 







The next day after waking up in San Francisco we went to the
beach.  I got to see that bright blue water I saw from the window
up close and personal.  Being a small child I was amazed how big
the ocean was.  I was mesmerized by the waves washing up on shore
and going back to the bigness.  I played in the sand and was
taught how to build with it.  I was happily scooping up the wet
sand and putting it in a bucket.  A man-o-war washed up on the
beach, girls screamed and jumped away.  I wanted to touch
it.  Someone pulled me away.


After being on the beach to entire day I became sick.  Sun
poisoning is serious for a small child.  I was taken to the
hospital.  My back and shoulders blistered.  To this day I
have pigment damage on my shoulders.  I remember the woman I was
to call mom was scolded by the doctor about my neglect.


Mom and her paramour felt horrible about the fact they weren't more
careful.  From the beach they went to her mother's home near Palm
Springs.  There were big discussions, more along the lines of
arguments, on what to do with me.  We stayed there for a
while.  This older woman I was to call grandmother.  She
took good care of me while I was left in her care and I loved her the
rest of her life.  Later on, I found out mom was actually a
cousin, grandmother was a great aunty.  They were
relatives.  Why was I taken away from my mother?


Many years later, as pieces of a puzzle came together, piece by piece
I found out my biological mother was my father's mistress.  He
was married to the woman I called mom.  Mom was crying on our
first day.  She was expressing milk from her breasts with a
breast pump.  I asked her if it hurt.  She said no it
didn't.  She then told me I had a sister, she died when she was
just a few days old.  I was taking her place.  I found out
it was not an uncommon practice among some Native American families in
the past. My family was an acculturated Native family. 
Grandmother moved to California as part of the relocation in the
government's attempt to assimilate.


My father found me at Palm Springs.  He knew where to
look.  The day he found me was the last time I saw him.  A
horrible fight ensued.  I could hear from outside the loud
argument the crash and bang of things thrown about.  He came out
crying.  He was handsome, kind and gentle in memory.  He
picked me up and told me to remember he will always love me.  He
held me close crying. I would always remember his beautiful blue eyes.


The agreement after the argument was I would get a good
education.  A mixed-blood would not fare well on a
reservation.  It would be better to be raised off of the
reservation.  Considering this was 1950 it was true of that
time.  The law did not concern itself in helping Native American
mothers find their stolen children.  Many children were stolen
from the reservations legally and illegally for generations.  I
was not unique in that regard. Over the years I would find others
with similar stories.  The difference was I was still with family.


I did receive a good education as promised.  Our start was a
rocky start but once we settled we had a good life.  It was not
until I was 6 almost 7 years old we would settle and I would begin
school.  Until that time we had adventures traveling across the
country.  Some of it good and some not so good, like the time
spent in an orphanage.  It was there I saw my biological mother
from a distance for the last time.




 


 


 


 


  Your story astounds me.  I tried to do some research on Native children who were stolen.  I didn't find anything similar to your case; but, I thought you might possibly be interested in these sites:


:http://digitalcommons.unl.edu/cgi/viewcontent.cgi?article=1009&context=historyfacpub


http://www.jewishvirtuallibrary.org/jsource/Holocaust/children.html


My friend Russ is a Hochunka man in his late eighties.  When he went to school in Wisconsin Native people had to go to separate schools.  What he remembers from school was doing a lot of marching.  He didn't learn to read.  In his late teens he enlisted in the army and was eventually sent to Australia.  He did a good job and his superiors wanted to promote him to captain.  He didn't want to do that; because, it would involve reading.  He didn't tell them he couldn't read.  He volounteered for the next available job.  That was parachute training.  The first time he ever flew in a plane he had to parachute out.


Hochunka is a relatively new name for his people.  French explorers originally called them Winnebago.  That means "land of stinking waters" in French.  Evidently  the people lived near a lake that would get stinky in the summer.  What a world we live in!


 

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re: After Abduction

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Message 4 of 9
In Response to After Abduction:

 







The next day after waking up in San Francisco we went to the
beach.  I got to see that bright blue water I saw from the window
up close and personal.  Being a small child I was amazed how big
the ocean was.  I was mesmerized by the waves washing up on shore
and going back to the bigness.  I played in the sand and was
taught how to build with it.  I was happily scooping up the wet
sand and putting it in a bucket.  A man-o-war washed up on the
beach, girls screamed and jumped away.  I wanted to touch
it.  Someone pulled me away.


After being on the beach to entire day I became sick.  Sun
poisoning is serious for a small child.  I was taken to the
hospital.  My back and shoulders blistered.  To this day I
have pigment damage on my shoulders.  I remember the woman I was
to call mom was scolded by the doctor about my neglect.


Mom and her paramour felt horrible about the fact they weren't more
careful.  From the beach they went to her mother's home near Palm
Springs.  There were big discussions, more along the lines of
arguments, on what to do with me.  We stayed there for a
while.  This older woman I was to call grandmother.  She
took good care of me while I was left in her care and I loved her the
rest of her life.  Later on, I found out mom was actually a
cousin, grandmother was a great aunty.  They were
relatives.  Why was I taken away from my mother?


Many years later, as pieces of a puzzle came together, piece by piece
I found out my biological mother was my father's mistress.  He
was married to the woman I called mom.  Mom was crying on our
first day.  She was expressing milk from her breasts with a
breast pump.  I asked her if it hurt.  She said no it
didn't.  She then told me I had a sister, she died when she was
just a few days old.  I was taking her place.  I found out
it was not an uncommon practice among some Native American families in
the past. My family was an acculturated Native family. 
Grandmother moved to California as part of the relocation in the
government's attempt to assimilate.


My father found me at Palm Springs.  He knew where to
look.  The day he found me was the last time I saw him.  A
horrible fight ensued.  I could hear from outside the loud
argument the crash and bang of things thrown about.  He came out
crying.  He was handsome, kind and gentle in memory.  He
picked me up and told me to remember he will always love me.  He
held me close crying. I would always remember his beautiful blue eyes.


The agreement after the argument was I would get a good
education.  A mixed-blood would not fare well on a
reservation.  It would be better to be raised off of the
reservation.  Considering this was 1950 it was true of that
time.  The law did not concern itself in helping Native American
mothers find their stolen children.  Many children were stolen
from the reservations legally and illegally for generations.  I
was not unique in that regard. Over the years I would find others
with similar stories.  The difference was I was still with family.


I did receive a good education as promised.  Our start was a
rocky start but once we settled we had a good life.  It was not
until I was 6 almost 7 years old we would settle and I would begin
school.  Until that time we had adventures traveling across the
country.  Some of it good and some not so good, like the time
spent in an orphanage.  It was there I saw my biological mother
from a distance for the last time.




 


 


 


 


  Thank you so much for continuing this story!  ((((((((starz))))))))))   <--- that is a hug!

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re: After Abduction

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Message 5 of 9
In Response to After Abduction:

 







The next day after waking up in San Francisco we went to the
beach.  I got to see that bright blue water I saw from the window
up close and personal.  Being a small child I was amazed how big
the ocean was.  I was mesmerized by the waves washing up on shore
and going back to the bigness.  I played in the sand and was
taught how to build with it.  I was happily scooping up the wet
sand and putting it in a bucket.  A man-o-war washed up on the
beach, girls screamed and jumped away.  I wanted to touch
it.  Someone pulled me away.


After being on the beach to entire day I became sick.  Sun
poisoning is serious for a small child.  I was taken to the
hospital.  My back and shoulders blistered.  To this day I
have pigment damage on my shoulders.  I remember the woman I was
to call mom was scolded by the doctor about my neglect.


Mom and her paramour felt horrible about the fact they weren't more
careful.  From the beach they went to her mother's home near Palm
Springs.  There were big discussions, more along the lines of
arguments, on what to do with me.  We stayed there for a
while.  This older woman I was to call grandmother.  She
took good care of me while I was left in her care and I loved her the
rest of her life.  Later on, I found out mom was actually a
cousin, grandmother was a great aunty.  They were
relatives.  Why was I taken away from my mother?


Many years later, as pieces of a puzzle came together, piece by piece
I found out my biological mother was my father's mistress.  He
was married to the woman I called mom.  Mom was crying on our
first day.  She was expressing milk from her breasts with a
breast pump.  I asked her if it hurt.  She said no it
didn't.  She then told me I had a sister, she died when she was
just a few days old.  I was taking her place.  I found out
it was not an uncommon practice among some Native American families in
the past. My family was an acculturated Native family. 
Grandmother moved to California as part of the relocation in the
government's attempt to assimilate.


My father found me at Palm Springs.  He knew where to
look.  The day he found me was the last time I saw him.  A
horrible fight ensued.  I could hear from outside the loud
argument the crash and bang of things thrown about.  He came out
crying.  He was handsome, kind and gentle in memory.  He
picked me up and told me to remember he will always love me.  He
held me close crying. I would always remember his beautiful blue eyes.


The agreement after the argument was I would get a good
education.  A mixed-blood would not fare well on a
reservation.  It would be better to be raised off of the
reservation.  Considering this was 1950 it was true of that
time.  The law did not concern itself in helping Native American
mothers find their stolen children.  Many children were stolen
from the reservations legally and illegally for generations.  I
was not unique in that regard. Over the years I would find others
with similar stories.  The difference was I was still with family.


I did receive a good education as promised.  Our start was a
rocky start but once we settled we had a good life.  It was not
until I was 6 almost 7 years old we would settle and I would begin
school.  Until that time we had adventures traveling across the
country.  Some of it good and some not so good, like the time
spent in an orphanage.  It was there I saw my biological mother
from a distance for the last time.




 


 


 


 


Hi Starz,


I am enjoying reading your story.  It is like the books that have come out in series form that make you wait for the next one to find out more of the story.  I eagerly await the next piece.  I still think your story would make an extremely interesting book.


Marti 

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re: After Abduction

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Message 6 of 9
In Response to After Abduction:

 







The next day after waking up in San Francisco we went to the
beach.  I got to see that bright blue water I saw from the window
up close and personal.  Being a small child I was amazed how big
the ocean was.  I was mesmerized by the waves washing up on shore
and going back to the bigness.  I played in the sand and was
taught how to build with it.  I was happily scooping up the wet
sand and putting it in a bucket.  A man-o-war washed up on the
beach, girls screamed and jumped away.  I wanted to touch
it.  Someone pulled me away.


After being on the beach to entire day I became sick.  Sun
poisoning is serious for a small child.  I was taken to the
hospital.  My back and shoulders blistered.  To this day I
have pigment damage on my shoulders.  I remember the woman I was
to call mom was scolded by the doctor about my neglect.


Mom and her paramour felt horrible about the fact they weren't more
careful.  From the beach they went to her mother's home near Palm
Springs.  There were big discussions, more along the lines of
arguments, on what to do with me.  We stayed there for a
while.  This older woman I was to call grandmother.  She
took good care of me while I was left in her care and I loved her the
rest of her life.  Later on, I found out mom was actually a
cousin, grandmother was a great aunty.  They were
relatives.  Why was I taken away from my mother?


Many years later, as pieces of a puzzle came together, piece by piece
I found out my biological mother was my father's mistress.  He
was married to the woman I called mom.  Mom was crying on our
first day.  She was expressing milk from her breasts with a
breast pump.  I asked her if it hurt.  She said no it
didn't.  She then told me I had a sister, she died when she was
just a few days old.  I was taking her place.  I found out
it was not an uncommon practice among some Native American families in
the past. My family was an acculturated Native family. 
Grandmother moved to California as part of the relocation in the
government's attempt to assimilate.


My father found me at Palm Springs.  He knew where to
look.  The day he found me was the last time I saw him.  A
horrible fight ensued.  I could hear from outside the loud
argument the crash and bang of things thrown about.  He came out
crying.  He was handsome, kind and gentle in memory.  He
picked me up and told me to remember he will always love me.  He
held me close crying. I would always remember his beautiful blue eyes.


The agreement after the argument was I would get a good
education.  A mixed-blood would not fare well on a
reservation.  It would be better to be raised off of the
reservation.  Considering this was 1950 it was true of that
time.  The law did not concern itself in helping Native American
mothers find their stolen children.  Many children were stolen
from the reservations legally and illegally for generations.  I
was not unique in that regard. Over the years I would find others
with similar stories.  The difference was I was still with family.


I did receive a good education as promised.  Our start was a
rocky start but once we settled we had a good life.  It was not
until I was 6 almost 7 years old we would settle and I would begin
school.  Until that time we had adventures traveling across the
country.  Some of it good and some not so good, like the time
spent in an orphanage.  It was there I saw my biological mother
from a distance for the last time.




 


 


 


 


  "He was handsome, kind and gentle in memory".  Well put.


Your story is a peek at strife and harmony at work.  A very good read.


Nikki

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re: After Abduction

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Message 7 of 9
In Response to After Abduction:

 







The next day after waking up in San Francisco we went to the
beach.  I got to see that bright blue water I saw from the window
up close and personal.  Being a small child I was amazed how big
the ocean was.  I was mesmerized by the waves washing up on shore
and going back to the bigness.  I played in the sand and was
taught how to build with it.  I was happily scooping up the wet
sand and putting it in a bucket.  A man-o-war washed up on the
beach, girls screamed and jumped away.  I wanted to touch
it.  Someone pulled me away.


After being on the beach to entire day I became sick.  Sun
poisoning is serious for a small child.  I was taken to the
hospital.  My back and shoulders blistered.  To this day I
have pigment damage on my shoulders.  I remember the woman I was
to call mom was scolded by the doctor about my neglect.


Mom and her paramour felt horrible about the fact they weren't more
careful.  From the beach they went to her mother's home near Palm
Springs.  There were big discussions, more along the lines of
arguments, on what to do with me.  We stayed there for a
while.  This older woman I was to call grandmother.  She
took good care of me while I was left in her care and I loved her the
rest of her life.  Later on, I found out mom was actually a
cousin, grandmother was a great aunty.  They were
relatives.  Why was I taken away from my mother?


Many years later, as pieces of a puzzle came together, piece by piece
I found out my biological mother was my father's mistress.  He
was married to the woman I called mom.  Mom was crying on our
first day.  She was expressing milk from her breasts with a
breast pump.  I asked her if it hurt.  She said no it
didn't.  She then told me I had a sister, she died when she was
just a few days old.  I was taking her place.  I found out
it was not an uncommon practice among some Native American families in
the past. My family was an acculturated Native family. 
Grandmother moved to California as part of the relocation in the
government's attempt to assimilate.


My father found me at Palm Springs.  He knew where to
look.  The day he found me was the last time I saw him.  A
horrible fight ensued.  I could hear from outside the loud
argument the crash and bang of things thrown about.  He came out
crying.  He was handsome, kind and gentle in memory.  He
picked me up and told me to remember he will always love me.  He
held me close crying. I would always remember his beautiful blue eyes.


The agreement after the argument was I would get a good
education.  A mixed-blood would not fare well on a
reservation.  It would be better to be raised off of the
reservation.  Considering this was 1950 it was true of that
time.  The law did not concern itself in helping Native American
mothers find their stolen children.  Many children were stolen
from the reservations legally and illegally for generations.  I
was not unique in that regard. Over the years I would find others
with similar stories.  The difference was I was still with family.


I did receive a good education as promised.  Our start was a
rocky start but once we settled we had a good life.  It was not
until I was 6 almost 7 years old we would settle and I would begin
school.  Until that time we had adventures traveling across the
country.  Some of it good and some not so good, like the time
spent in an orphanage.  It was there I saw my biological mother
from a distance for the last time.




 


 


 


 


  starz,


Your story is very interesting and I really like the way you write it. I am looking forward to your next writing. Thanks for sharing it with us.


Mike

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After Abduction

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Message 8 of 9

 







The next day after waking up in San Francisco we went to the
beach.  I got to see that bright blue water I saw from the window
up close and personal.  Being a small child I was amazed how big
the ocean was.  I was mesmerized by the waves washing up on shore
and going back to the bigness.  I played in the sand and was
taught how to build with it.  I was happily scooping up the wet
sand and putting it in a bucket.  A man-o-war washed up on the
beach, girls screamed and jumped away.  I wanted to touch
it.  Someone pulled me away.


After being on the beach to entire day I became sick.  Sun
poisoning is serious for a small child.  I was taken to the
hospital.  My back and shoulders blistered.  To this day I
have pigment damage on my shoulders.  I remember the woman I was
to call mom was scolded by the doctor about my neglect.


Mom and her paramour felt horrible about the fact they weren't more
careful.  From the beach they went to her mother's home near Palm
Springs.  There were big discussions, more along the lines of
arguments, on what to do with me.  We stayed there for a
while.  This older woman I was to call grandmother.  She
took good care of me while I was left in her care and I loved her the
rest of her life.  Later on, I found out mom was actually a
cousin, grandmother was a great aunty.  They were
relatives.  Why was I taken away from my mother?


Many years later, as pieces of a puzzle came together, piece by piece
I found out my biological mother was my father's mistress.  He
was married to the woman I called mom.  Mom was crying on our
first day.  She was expressing milk from her breasts with a
breast pump.  I asked her if it hurt.  She said no it
didn't.  She then told me I had a sister, she died when she was
just a few days old.  I was taking her place.  I found out
it was not an uncommon practice among some Native American families in
the past. My family was an acculturated Native family. 
Grandmother moved to California as part of the relocation in the
government's attempt to assimilate.


My father found me at Palm Springs.  He knew where to
look.  The day he found me was the last time I saw him.  A
horrible fight ensued.  I could hear from outside the loud
argument the crash and bang of things thrown about.  He came out
crying.  He was handsome, kind and gentle in memory.  He
picked me up and told me to remember he will always love me.  He
held me close crying. I would always remember his beautiful blue eyes.


The agreement after the argument was I would get a good
education.  A mixed-blood would not fare well on a
reservation.  It would be better to be raised off of the
reservation.  Considering this was 1950 it was true of that
time.  The law did not concern itself in helping Native American
mothers find their stolen children.  Many children were stolen
from the reservations legally and illegally for generations.  I
was not unique in that regard. Over the years I would find others
with similar stories.  The difference was I was still with family.


I did receive a good education as promised.  Our start was a
rocky start but once we settled we had a good life.  It was not
until I was 6 almost 7 years old we would settle and I would begin
school.  Until that time we had adventures traveling across the
country.  Some of it good and some not so good, like the time
spent in an orphanage.  It was there I saw my biological mother
from a distance for the last time.




 


 


 


 

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After Abduction

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Message 8 of 9

 







The next day after waking up in San Francisco we went to the
beach.  I got to see that bright blue water I saw from the window
up close and personal.  Being a small child I was amazed how big
the ocean was.  I was mesmerized by the waves washing up on shore
and going back to the bigness.  I played in the sand and was
taught how to build with it.  I was happily scooping up the wet
sand and putting it in a bucket.  A man-o-war washed up on the
beach, girls screamed and jumped away.  I wanted to touch
it.  Someone pulled me away.


After being on the beach to entire day I became sick.  Sun
poisoning is serious for a small child.  I was taken to the
hospital.  My back and shoulders blistered.  To this day I
have pigment damage on my shoulders.  I remember the woman I was
to call mom was scolded by the doctor about my neglect.


Mom and her paramour felt horrible about the fact they weren't more
careful.  From the beach they went to her mother's home near Palm
Springs.  There were big discussions, more along the lines of
arguments, on what to do with me.  We stayed there for a
while.  This older woman I was to call grandmother.  She
took good care of me while I was left in her care and I loved her the
rest of her life.  Later on, I found out mom was actually a
cousin, grandmother was a great aunty.  They were
relatives.  Why was I taken away from my mother?


Many years later, as pieces of a puzzle came together, piece by piece
I found out my biological mother was my father's mistress.  He
was married to the woman I called mom.  Mom was crying on our
first day.  She was expressing milk from her breasts with a
breast pump.  I asked her if it hurt.  She said no it
didn't.  She then told me I had a sister, she died when she was
just a few days old.  I was taking her place.  I found out
it was not an uncommon practice among some Native American families in
the past. My family was an acculturated Native family. 
Grandmother moved to California as part of the relocation in the
government's attempt to assimilate.


My father found me at Palm Springs.  He knew where to
look.  The day he found me was the last time I saw him.  A
horrible fight ensued.  I could hear from outside the loud
argument the crash and bang of things thrown about.  He came out
crying.  He was handsome, kind and gentle in memory.  He
picked me up and told me to remember he will always love me.  He
held me close crying. I would always remember his beautiful blue eyes.


The agreement after the argument was I would get a good
education.  A mixed-blood would not fare well on a
reservation.  It would be better to be raised off of the
reservation.  Considering this was 1950 it was true of that
time.  The law did not concern itself in helping Native American
mothers find their stolen children.  Many children were stolen
from the reservations legally and illegally for generations.  I
was not unique in that regard. Over the years I would find others
with similar stories.  The difference was I was still with family.


I did receive a good education as promised.  Our start was a
rocky start but once we settled we had a good life.  It was not
until I was 6 almost 7 years old we would settle and I would begin
school.  Until that time we had adventures traveling across the
country.  Some of it good and some not so good, like the time
spent in an orphanage.  It was there I saw my biological mother
from a distance for the last time.




 


 


 


 

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