TAHOE - M'kmaq victory shout - story

A growing boy of eleven is usually full of smiles and shouts. But not Chris, he is too serious. His mother tells him, "My dear son, be a happy Mi’Kmaq." Chris often feels he has the problems of the world on his shoulders. His mother is Native and his father was White. He loves his mother so much, just as he loved his deceased father.

And he dislikes it when school chums call him a Wannabe. "How come I look white, mother?" He often asks.

"You know you are Mi’Kmaq, my son. Your heart is Native, no matter what your skin speaks." Her face was sad as she said these words. "Your father was a good man. He admired the ways of my people." Chris and his mother live near the Millbrook First Nation Reserve in Truro, Nova Scotia. His grandfather calls him 'Little-Feather'. Now he will have to try harder to cheer up his grandson since Chris's father died so suddenly.

"Kisu'lk weswalata. Our Creator took him," his mother said. Now Chris has to find a way to overcome his broken heart. He knows he is not alone. His family is his strength.

Chris turned from the silence of the earth. At his father's Christian funeral, his ears heard the crying. The sounds mostly belonged to him. His eyes saw the lowered faces of his family. He felt their sorrow. His heart thumped under his rib cage. The celebration of his father's passing was a blur. Singing and drums beating lasted four days.

He scuffed his shoes in the dust and gravel. His headband pressed tightly against his forehead. He hoped his father would understand Chris felt more Native than white. Now warmth on his shoulders came from his grandfather's fingers. They squeezed gently. His grandfather knew about the battle Chris was having inside his heart.

Chris didn't understand why his father had to leave his son. But it was not for him to question the ways of the Great Spirit. His grandfather had explained that NISKAM the Mi’Kmaq God had called his father home. Trying to be a Mi’Kmaq boy living between a Reserve and the edge of a white man's town was not easy. Having your father die all of a sudden was even worse. But Chris knew he was part of a larger family with tradition. And his heritage was still with him, even if it was more on his mother's side.

Right now his grandfather's words were comforting. "My heart is heavy, but you are strong. You are like a willow tree." Words floated as a leaf looking for a home. "No matter how fierce the wind, you will bend but not break. I know you will survive it all, my 'little feather'." These were words of honor from his grandfather. Chris's chest swelled.

Chris wanted so much to be called a true Mi’Kmaq. Just like his grandfather. He allowed his grandfather to take one hand and his mother, Great Bear, took the other. She was his main anchor. Chris was her only son. He nicknamed his mother last year. “Great Bear, the Protector,” he told his friends at school.

Together, the three of them walked to the edge of the cemetery. Chris paused and looked back. "I will be with you always, father. You will forever be in my heart." He didn't notice his mother bow her head. Or the pride his grandfather had for him at that moment. They walked together, back to his home where the healing would have to begin.

**

Returning to school was not easy. The true test of Chris's healing heart now took place. Morning class was finished. Children were running, playing and calling names. Their words followed him. "No Tongue! No Tongue!" Names and more names; “I am Mi’Kmaq,” his heart sang. Chris's sadness over his father's death caused his tongue to be still. And he turned to his mother's heritage for strength.

His friend walked behind him. Why does he not join the others? Chris wondered. He was not smiling as he moved through the playground. "Hey Chris! Wait up." Peter ran quickly and caught up to him. "Why don't you wait for me?” he asked.

Chris pressed a hand over his angry heart. "Leave me alone," his tongue almost said. "Why are you walking so quickly? Hey, hold up, will ya?" So many questions, Chris thought. Why? He kept going and Peter followed. Peter was Chris's best friend in grade six with him. "Aren't you glad, 'No Tongue' about our Social Studies class today? You know, learning about your people?"

Chris disliked that name. "Stop calling me No Tongue," he said. His thoughts climbed as a shrieking raven. He wanted to shout his hurt. His ache of sadness was an alarm crying out. He tried to be silent. I am a Mi’Kmaq son. Chris willed himself to become patient as a leaf.

"Why do some children continue to tease me, Peter?" Chris asked. Was it because he wanted to be called a Native, or because he no longer had a father? One time he was named 'Little Feather’ not 'No Tongue'. Chris's chest swelled. His grandfather spoke it and made his mother proud. Why did they not respect the wisdom of his grandfather?

Grandfather stood so tall. His wrinkles of wisdom were like waves on Cobequid Bay's shore. His tales of Glooscap the God-man were numerous as leaves in October. Grandfather's love of the forest and its creatures became Chris’ prayer. He quickly learned the ways of his ancestors.

"Long ago Mi’Kmaq people were nomadic and respected each other's hunting and fishing areas," grandfather said. Chris was told 'Wigwams' moved in the spring to the seacoast where fish were plenty. "Native children were brought up to respect their elders," his grandfather told him.

All elders were 'Uncle' in greeting, or 'Auntie' for the women. Chris was learning to say these words of honor. He wanted so much to be part of the circle of a family. "Keep the circle strong," was his password. Would his white heritage make things difficult for him? Chris wondered. His thoughts were now pushed aside...

"Chris? Are you listening to me?" Peter was speaking again. "I'll come get you after lunch!" He yelled out.

"Why," Chris asked later at home, "must I go to that school? There are those who wish to taunt me. They do not understand the traditions of my past. And the knowledge of my grandfather."

"Names and faces can't hurt you," his mother said. Her skin was dark and her high cheekbones made her look like a raven. But she was a bear, his protector.
"What's for dinner?" Chris's watch said not much time left before the school bell. "You're always hungry." His mother smiled. "I made some of your favorite bread, Lusginigen."

"Oh Lusgi!" Chris answered back, using the shorter name.

"Yes, always hungry." A voice called from the corner of the room. It was Nan, his cousin. She knows everything, Chris said to himself. And she is good at every school sport. Playing volleyball and soccer well brings her many friends. Chris only has one friend. Sometimes she makes him jealous. He is her opposite. His feet trip when he runs to first base. His hands get in the way of the soccer ball. When a whistle signals a penalty, it makes his chums upset. Then, they call him more names.

**

Chris became 'Mikchikch the Turtle', when angry words created a path to his heart. Once he watched Oapos the rabbit hop around an apple tree. Chris watched his eyes. They were trusting. The boy adopted his heart of bravery.

Chris was his father's name. His mother wanted young Chris to be like him. Study and read. Watch and learn. Chris's father worked in an office, in Truro. His father's cry of anger at night stilled Chris' heart. His anguish pierced Chris's skin. There was so little time for father and young son to spend time together. And the necktie on his collar was more like a noose.

When his father went away never to return, Chris became 'No Tongue.' Chris felt in his spirit it was his fault. He thought maybe he was not such a good son. Now he wanted to prove he was, by learning the legends of his mother's people. And the dances and songs from his grandfather's past.

Chris's mother, Great Bear cut through his many thoughts. “Hurry up and finish eating Chris. You have to get back to school." His mouth was full of Lusginigen and beans. "I must hurry," he said. His mind was still full of memories…

"Your father's funeral was a celebration," his grandfather had said.

"What did you promise my father when he went to NISKAM?" Chris asked. Grandfather's answer was the knowledge he promised to teach. Chris was to become 'Eagle Feather', a true grandson. It was his grandfather's gift to him. The boy became more of a man each time his grandfather took him into the woods. The fireflies became his friends. The rabbit was his candle of trust. The birds and animals of the forest were now part of his family circle.

The boy’s feet learned to walk paths bathed in moonlight. And his heart was filled with songs from his past. His heritage. "The Great Spirit gave us instructions to take care of the earth. And all the creatures of the forest," grandfather said.

**

Chris finally finished his lunch. "Your 'Lusgi' was great ma!"

"Such a beautiful boy. Isn't he Nan? And look at those teeth. I can't believe you are only eleven years old Chris...or is it almost twelve?" Chris’s smile was a song of happiness for her. "What does it matter?" he said. He felt like a man now. And his eyes danced to the beat of drums made from deerskin. His grandfather had said, " We must thank the deer for giving up his life, so that we may share his hide." The boy prepared for school.

His mother was also like a partridge, as she moved quickly from one moment to another. "Wipe your face. Brush your teeth. Scoot, scoot to school."

"Peter is waiting outside, ma. I have to hurry." He was glad for such a good friend. Chris needed to teach him some of the old ways; how to make a shelter. Or prepare a fire to provide for food, and for warmth. His grandfather's face will shine upon him with gladness. It was grandfather who finally taught Chris how to put away 'No Tongue,’' to make him sleep for a very long time, maybe forever. It was only a name to mock Chris. And he was no longer afraid.

The voice of his grandfather now called to him, from beyond the sun. "Be a proud Mi’Kmaq, young one." His mother's caring soothed Chris. "Such a beautiful boy. My baby," she tells him as he leaves for school. Chris knows he has warmth and protection. He soars above all difficult things. His wings are as beautiful feathers.

Peter calls loudly, his impatience as a leaf on the wind. "Chris! Hurry up, or we'll be late for school!" An answering call responds with new courage. No, not 'No Tongue' or even 'Little Feather.' “Eagle Feather is coming!" Chris answers.

Chris's grandfather told him an Eagle Feather is an important symbol. It represents truth and carries prayers to the Great Spirit. An Eagle flies highest and sees best. Chris became a true Eagle Feather, a carrier of truth. Sometimes he dreamt Glooscap sent him his grandfather. He was a God-man, warrior and leader among his people. He built his Wigwam on top of Cape Blomidon and was the mighty guardian of Minas Basin.

He taught his people to hunt and fish. Wild animals were among his followers. Glooscap was strong and fearless, a wise leader and teacher. He never married, the legends say. He lived with Noogumee an adopted grandmother and a young boy named Marten. They were his family.

In Chris' teachings he pretended his grandfather was Glooscap. In his learning Chris became Marten, his son. His grandfather brought Chris to many trails of truth. "We are people of the Dawn,” he said. “Mi’Kmaq greet Dawn with a pipe and hold on to the earth to make it good for everyone."

**

Chris learned the dances of his people. The Circle Dance became an important part of his teaching. His culture. In the Council Hall Chris stood sideways and moved around the drums, along with his school friends. He placed his hands on shoulders that followed the leader wearing a deerskin lace suit of clothes.

The sound of the drums in the background brought pride. The spirit music sent tingles down the back of his head and neck. Goosebumps made the blood in his veins flow as a mighty current. As Chris's steps moved around the room, he heard the voices of his ancestors who greeted the first Europeans. And the Mother Earth Song that formed the bond of his family and nation-

“Voices are echoes from canyons
when laughter is free as the deer
and my tears travel with the rain,
where my soul knows no more pain.”

"Tahoe," is his yell of triumph. And this is not the end of Chris’ song.

* * *

(c) Richard L. Provencher 2007

Richard and Esther Provencher invite you to view their novels written during a recovery from a stroke, which gob smacked her husband Richard in 1999.

Direct links to these novels from www.synergebooks.com are below.

FOOTPRINTS is about Joe who receives an anonymous letter stating he has a 14 year old son he was not aware of. Will this affect a recent marriage to a wonderful lady with two children who love him? His desire to find his missing son puts a strain on everyone. Unknown to Joe, an angry son is also looking for him.
http://www.synergebooks.com/ebook_footprints.html novel available now

SOMEONES SON is about Sheldon who has overcome much hurting these past three years. He has been the man of the house since his father moved out. Now dad is back and wants to spend time with him. What about Larry, his neighbor who has been like a father all this time? And mom wants to marry again? http://www.synergebooks.com/ebook_someonesson.html novel available soon

INTO THE FIRE is about Troy who has no real friends, only an imaginary one, JC. Without him, Troy might not be able to cope with living in the country, since dad took up drinking. Troy has to be the man of the house because a terrible accident killed mom three months ago. Then a mystery changes everything.
http://www.synergebooks.com/ebook_intothefire.html. novel available soon