Details

Storyteller: Donovan
Tribe: White Earth Band of Ojibwe
Created: 2018
Location: Minneapolis, MN
Transcript: My Mother was the biggest influence in my life as I was growing up.

My father was an alcoholic, so she kept me safe and away from the bad things, mainly street drugs and alcohol.

My father drank most of the time and he would fight in bars every chance he got. At times he would beat my mom. If he was not drinking, he was working. All together my mom had 11 children. My sister Dolores was the oldest and I the youngest.

Life was not great while I was growing up due to my complexion and how I looked with curly blond hair. I was called the sheriff’s kid and at time the milk man’s kid. I was teased almost every day by my brothers and sisters due to the fact that I didn't look like an Indian, again my mom came to my rescue.

I grew up on the White Earth Indian reservation until I was 12. Then in 1967 my mother had enough of the poor life and my dad’s drinking so she packed up the little belongings we had, and she found the money for all nine of us to catch a train to Minneapolis.

When my father wasn't drunk, he taught us the ways of our Indian people, our language and our ceremonies. This was a special part of my life that I remember. Then in 1975 he had a massive heart attack and passed away. Then culture took the back seat for a lot of years.

Within the Indian community I have found that the smaller picture within the bigger picture needs to be addressed by taking a look at how our people look at the Natives who don't or won't accept the Indian that looks like he is a white man. I recall how bad it was when my dad and I went ricing in White Earth on the big rice lake. At that time, it was a controlled lake and two Natives from the security patrol asked my dad if he was an Indian because the lake was closed to whites and open only to Indians. It was hard and not the type of thing we needed to here.