Childhood, Colorado, Comanche, Indian, Monkey Bars, Native American, Navajo, Pueblo, Stereotype
Having spent most of my career working with Native Americans (and more recently, Alaska Natives), I’ve often had cause to reflect on the differences between the people I have met as an adult and the ideas circulating about them in the public imagination. Often I find myself thinking about notions of Indian-ness I learned when I was little. What were Indians to me as a child? And how did I arrive at those notions? I don’t know if there is any special insight to be gained here, but I seem to think with a keyboard, so anyway…
What do I remember?
I certainly remember cowboys and Indians on the playground in a small school in Southern Colorado. That and army were all I wanted to play (or tackle football – at least until it dawned on me that I sucked at sports). I remember that playing the Indian was somewhat of a social obligation on our playground, because they had to die more than the cowboys; it was expected. You had to take your turn out there storming the monkey bars which served as a fortress from which the playground cowboys picked off playground Indians with relative ease. As I didn’t mind dying on the playground, I did this more than most of my classmates, except for Joe, (I think that was his name). Joe claimed some Arapaho ancestry. He was happy to play an Indian. I don’t remember whether died more than the cowboys, but I sort of hope he didn’t.
A part of me suspects Joe eventually found something else to do on the playground.
I must admit that I got frustrated, because certain folks (like …ahem, Scotty and Paul) never seemed to take their turn as an Indian, and they never, NEVER, died when you shot them with an arrow, not even when you snuck-up close on them and got ’em right in the heart.
I recall a number of class projects. Whether it was kindergarten or first grade, I can’t say, but some teacher had us all dress up as Indians once. This meant cutting holes into brown sacks for us to stick our heads and arms through, then cutting up the bottom for fringe. Mostly, I remember the dull scissors that we used to cut through the sacks, and the terrible blister I ended up with between my thumb and index finger.
I was not a huge fan of Indian dress after that assignment.
The wampum beads (colored macaroni on a string) went over much better. We wore them as necklaces. I and my classmates were more than happy to play Indian on the playground for awhile after making those. Naturally, we were plains Indians (pasta wampum having a slightly different regional presence than it’s namesake), but well, the important thing is that we fell when the cowboys shot us. That expectation was written in stone. I mean they could miss a time or two, but eventually you had to give it to the cowboy, grab your chest and fall.
Pasta wampum doesn’t hold up well when you fall on it.
I remember a trip to Yellowstone National park netted me a headdress, a toy bow and some picture-books filled with spectacular images of plains Indians. I think I played Indian that night until my parents wanted to shoot me for real.
As a side note, I recall that when my classmates started getting guns for Christmas (this was rural Colorado), and I started hinting, Mom and Dad responded to this by getting me a real bow. As if I couldn’t have killed myself with that. …Or for that matter Lawrence what’s-his-name from 6th grade. (In my defense, it was his idea to sit on the fence below and watch as the arrow fell back to earth; it saved time retrieving the thing.)
I still cringe when I think about that one.
I remember once while still living in Colorado, the class had to make models of different types of Indian homes. Somehow I got stuck with Navajo. Some friends are gonna kill me for saying that (and well they should) but that was exactly how I felt about it at the time. The ‘real Indians’ as far as I was concerned lived in teepees; I was stuck representing a hogan. At the time, ‘real Indian’ meant for me something like the plains Indians I had seen on TV so many times, usually charging over the hill to be shot down by the cowboys.
My hogans eventually took the form of an egg-shaped panty-hose container covered in something to make it look like mud; two of them of course. (Yes, the container was my Mother’s suggestion.) I wasn’t anymore pleased to have anything to do with panty-hose than I was to be making the homes of a tribe that didn’t appear in any of the movies I had been watching. (Little did I know where so many of the John Wayne films were made, …or how many Navajos I had already seen on film. I certainly didn’t know to call them Diné, nor did I appreciate the fact that I was setting their architecture back a couple hundred years with this mud-covered L’Eggs-model.) The bottom half of the shell seemed about right, but the top shell was way too pointed.
And my classmates made such perfect teepees, too!
I really hated that project.
Several years on down the road, another teacher gave out the same assignment, and somehow I ended up with Pueblos this time. I was a little older and a little less disappointed. …a little. I ended up with a gigantic sugar cube structure that didn’t look too bad until we covered it in brown wood-stain. Truth be told, it looked more like a castle than a Pueblo, but I still counted this as an improvement over my panty-hose hogan from previous years. After getting it back from the teacher, this structure made a really nice fort, one which helped to protect many a plastic army soldier from sundry enemies. What WW II-type army soldiers were doing in a castle-pueblo-fortress, I don’t know, but they fought well, let me tell you.
…at least until one of our cats used the box I had put this in as a substitute litter box.
I had a sister-in-law for a little while. She was “part native,” as they say. I remember, she had a lot of siblings, and I recall studying them quite carefully to see which ones looked like Indians and which didn’t. I figured you could see the Indian in about half of her siblings, but the other half looked white to me.
Naturally, I was quite confused.
I do believe it was my sister-in-law that caught me talking about ‘bad Indians’ one day and schooled me on the subject right quick. This had a pretty strong impact, not the least of reasons being that I liked all the Indians I knew. I liked Joey, I liked my sister-in-law, and as I recall I had a major puppy-crush on one of her little sisters, …possibly two. So, when she told me that Indians weren’t all bad, I was quite willing to believer her.
But that left me with one big problem; how to square this new understanding with all those westerns?
It all came to a head one day as I was looking down at a book illustration. The image is still quite clear in my mind; it depicted a whole bunch of plains Indians mounted on horse-back and charging toward the viewer looking fierce and warlike. Some adult in the household (I believe a guest) asked me what kind of Indians I thought they were. And that created quite a dilemma for me. I still didn’t know one tribe from another, much less how artificial those categories could be. More importantly, I was still stuck on the good Indian/bad Indian thing.
I stared at the image in silence for awhile, and I reasoned to myself that if not all Indians were bad, surely some were. There were bad cowboys and good cowboys in the movies, so why not good Indians and bad Indians? And maybe those bad Indians were the ones I had seen in all the movies. Maybe those were the Indians we had been playing as we stormed the monkey-bar fortress at recess. And if there were bad Indians, I thought, surely these guys (fierce looking as they were) must belong to that group! So, that’s what I said, my tone rising as I spoke; “…bad Indians?” after a bit of a pause, whoever it was offered that perhaps they were Comanche.
As far as I understood it, my theory that there were in fact bad Indians had just been confirmed, and I had just been given a name for at least some of them, Comanche! Comanche were the bad Indians. My sister-in-law and her family and Joey must have been the good ones. The next time I took off after that monkey-bar fortress, I feel quite certain that I counted myself as a ‘Comanche’ rather than a mere ‘Indian’.
Of course someone shot me and I had to fall down dead.
Naturally, my perspective on things having to do with Native Americans has changed over the years, not the least of them being my vocabulary preferences. But I often wonder how much of it is due to simply growing up and how much may be due to specific paths I have taken over the years? Most importantly, I find myself wondering how many of the ideas which shaped what an ‘Indian’ was to a little white guy living in Southern Colorado in the 1970s might have been due to the times I lived in? And how much that in itself may have changed?
I guess another way of putting it would be; do Indians still fight cowboys on the playground?
And if so, do the Indians ever win?
Many years had passed since all those stories mentioned above when I arrived in Navajo country to receive my first lesson on indigenous perspectives from a native source. My new landlord hadn’t quite cleared out of his place yet, but he had made a fold-out bed available for me. Observing a pile of pillows and blankets arranged in a familiar manner about the bed, I mentioned that his son had built a fort out of it.
A very irritated preschool child quickly emerged from beneath the bed to tell me it was not a fortress.
It was a Pueblo!
This was an interesting read. I remember dressing up as pilgrims and Indians for Thanksgiving in kindergarten, but I think it only consisted of hats and headdresses.
I don’t think we ever did one of those in any of my classes. I’m not sure if I’m disappointed or relived.
Interesting. Thanks for the read.
You’re very kind.
I definitely remember the wampum macaroni necklaces! And making teepees.
Thanks for stopping by and Liking our post: Boo-Qwilla: At The Foot Of Greatness
(ps. Maggie & I support the Lakota children in South Dakota-have for many years. http://www.stjo.org).
Wampum macaroni was fun. …I think mine was pretty bad though, but that didn’t stop me. I dig your blog. Great dog.
I do hope you’ve looked into St. Joseph’s. I’m always a little wary of boarding schools, because I know too many people who have endured abuse in them. I like the fact that they support Lakota culture, but I couldn’t see clear evidence of a role for native leaders in defining that on their website. They mention a cultural expert, for example, but they don’t say who he is, how he was chosen, or what role he has on the curriculum at large. It’s not always obvious from a name who is and who isn’t native, so I may have missed something, but some accountability to native voices ought to be built into programs like that, and I just didn’t find it. A few searches and I turned up several negative pages. There may be solid answers to the concerns, but it’s certainly cause for concern.
I’m sorry if this is bad news, and sorrier still if I’m being unfair to them. I’m just suspicious by nature and I thought I saw a few red flags.
Thank you so much for taking the time to write. I agree that the best solution is being with their cultural family who are good caregivers & role models, but for these kids coming from such abusive backgrounds (contrary to the original Lakota culture) I ask what is the fairest solution for their well-being? A child’s life is so precious, it breaks our hearts to think of the horror of any abuse towards them. I will check out your links. Thanks again. 🙂
In the neighborhood I grew up in (also in the 70s), I was one of the youngest kids on the block, and the only girl, so I wasn’t exactly super popular with the other kids. I also happened to have long black hair that I wore in two braids, and I was brown-skinned in a place that was predominantly white.
I remember one afternoon one of the little boys in the ‘hood actually stopped by our house and asked if I could come out and play. I was shocked, but pleased. Turns out they wanted to play cowboys and indians — and they needed an Indian.
I remember being really really pissed and telling them I couldn’t come out to play, though in retrospect I’m sure they didn’t mean anything malicious; they were just being practical….
And of course we all got older and then being a girl wasn’t so bad.
Lol, that’s a great story. Funny how kids bring the skewed cultural significance of something like dark skin right out, just by not knowing any better.
Thank you for stopping over my blog and for this provacative read. By chance, I had seen on a French channel yesterday a documentary called “Reel injun”. I highly recommend it.
Hollywood was far from the best model in depicting any ethnic group. I am not of native-American Indian background but I really feel ashamed and sorry for all the native Americans or Candians.
Links to the doc that I saw.:
Peace to you and everyone.
Thanks for stopping by. Reel Injuns is indeed a wonderful movie.
Love this post! Thanks for exploring your memories and thoughts on line. I fondly remember transforming paper bags into Indian garb – but I did this to become Tiger Lily from Peter Pan and had access to good scissors – no dying at the hands of cowboys and no blisters so only good memories for me! 🙂
Lol, now I know where the GOOD scissors were! I enjoyed the dying part (as a kid I went through a real gonna-be-a-stunt-man phase). It just got frustrating that some of my classmates never took their turn.
My husband and I enjoyed this post….I read it to him as we drove thru Lakota territory (or at least what once was…). 🙂
Thank you Judy. Did you do a blog post about your trip through there?
What an interesting post! I am fascinated by the representations of indigenous peoples in popular culture and the percetion mainstream societies have of these peoples. I feel a major step in the healing and reconciliation process must be to transform these representations and perceptions. I have written about representations of ind. peoples in science-fiction, for example, on The Geek Anthropologist, but I mostly write about my interest for native studies on my second blog, Not Your Usual Folklore.
I’d be really interested to learn more about your learning process after you started working with indigenous peoples: have you written more about this on your blog? I’ll go do some exploring!
Ni Made Sri Andani said:
A very interesting writing. I know about Indian from the book written by Karl May only -broadly the book telling me the good and the bad equally…but actually i’d really interested to learn more about Indian in the nowdays.
Laurie Merritt Photography said:
All great writing here – your post, Daniel, as well as commentary. All fond memories (although fairly ignorant at the time) of childhood plays, dress-up, making costumes, the macaroni, the construction paper to make headdresses. Does anyone remember the paste used in elementary school?
On a broader note, you’re a great writer. Really enjoy some of the topics. And finally, thank for liking some of my posts, “Misty Morning on the Lake” and “Sheepish”. Will catch up again soon.
I live in the state so this is a little embarrassing, but I’ve never even heard of Beulah. I need to check it out.
How’s living in Alaska? I want to move there, but I’m not sure my husband would come with me… too far from home.
Beaulah is a little South of Pueblo. Quaint little town, really I have find memories, though the rest of my family doesn’t. Alaska is great; love it here. You should drag your husband up for the whaling festivals in June. 🙂
That sounds nice. Where does that happen? We went to Alaska once, but it was just in the south east. I’d like to go further north.
It’s all over the North Slope. The indigenous community up here gets about 79-80 strikes a year I believe, and they celebrate the harvest in June. It starts with sharing the food, then moves on to the blanket toss.
That sounds really interesting! I definitely want to get up there for that sometime soon. It’s the first place on my travel list.
Do you know if flying in that part of the state is dangerous in the spring/summer? My husband is getting his pilot’s license and it is a goal for us to fly in or to Alaska at some point.
I don’t know much about how you would tell. But we get 3 commercial flights a day, barring bad weather. Sometimes a flight is cancelled, but not too often.
Laurie Merritt Photography said:
Hi again, Dan. I just read this for the 2nd time, and notice I had already commented (I was about to say the same things all over again. Great memories during childhood, but way more perspective now. I just read Cormac McCarthy’s “Blood Meridian” – hard to read at times, but hard to put down as well. Anyway, still love your site!
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