I haven't shared the following with the public as yet, as some of my family is very reluctant to talk about their "native ness".. but thought you might find it interesting.. Linda Diane Taylor 10/24/2009
... and now it is March 2010 and I have a sense that I need to tell the story now or it may not ever be told. I am not dishonoring my native ness just as I do not dishonor my britishness, my scottishness or being a Canadian or a nurse or an artist. I am however looking at going beyond the separations, the duality and the conflicts of it all.
My story, my search for my father?s native roots has come to a point of closure now.
My father died in 1983 not knowing his heritage. He had a great pain in his heart because of it. My search for his heritage took me on a great journey. A journey, where I explored native cultures not only in Canada and the US, but in South America. I have learned much.
I was very naive and like a child in the beginning. I fell prey to shaman who were really showmen and healers that were very plastic. I also learned to recognize the true medicine people though elders in the communities I have visited.
In 19989 I was confused by the misrepresentation of native cultures by so many tourist shaman and plastic healers. I my search for truth, I found a very sweet and down to earth couple. They were very active in their Métis Culture. Their practical and sensible advice assisted me to put everything into perspective. I also saw how proud they were of who they were. Their home was full of reminders of their culture. Their wonderful sense of humour had me laughing big belly laughs. The most important things I learned from them on that day were discernment and sensibility.
My mother was very reluctant to talk much about my father?s ancestry. In fact she refused to talk about it until quite recently. She is 79 now and now believes it was good for me to go on the search, in her words, ?maybe your father will find peace now that you all know.? Even though, I could not find any official documentation but my mother did confirm much of the information.
The proof of my father?s roots is all hearsay. My father looked native. "There is a great secret in the family" one aunty told me. My attempt to actually find documentation was fruitless. What I do know is that my grandfather was not my grandfather but his brother was my grandfather. I also know that my true grandfather was never married but had a young Ojibwe woman as his partner. She died in childbirth at age 17 and is buried somewhere near or on Manatoulin Island. Where her child is no one knows. My mother is certain this is true. Elders, (to be entered) of Quesnel and Leah Patrick of Fraser Lake, Mrs. Boyd of Alexis Creek all knew my father and have told me he would visit the areas often. They told me he was kind and loved to connect with the native people. Often he brought fruit and chocolate for the children. He also traveled into Nemiah Valley and again an elder there, William Setah acknowledged me with a big grin and a gift.
My sadness, my fathers? sadness, is deep. When I was a child my father never attended school, church or social events, but he always made sure I had the clothes, the baseball glove, the dime for the collection plate and a ride to wherever I needed to go. My mother and I have discussed how he never wanted to embarrass us kids with his native look. It had been ingrained in him that it was not ok to be an ?Indian?.
A few years ago my cousins and I decided to have genetic DNA testing done. The results were interesting. My cousins, the children of my father?s eldest sister do not have native ancestry according to the DNA results. My results came back that I did. I realize these results are not legal proof of anything however it did ease my mind and I consider it proof enough that the hearsay is true.
In the day when you could self declare Métis status my cousins did the self declaration. Despite their encouragement I did not claim the self declaration. I wanted to be in integrity and I had no documented proof. Now my cousins are extremely bewildered and upset. For me it brought some closure to the issue.
In 1990 I had a vision of a native woman coming to me and showing me my native brothers and sisters. She told me that they are in a period of redemption. She explained to me that they will return to their hearts by learning their culture, there dances, their stories, their gatherings. She also told me that my role in all of this was not to become a leader or healer or shaman or anything of the sort. My role was to encourage the people to return to their culture, to learn their dance, song, art and their spirituality.
Within a few days of that Vision, Doris Dolan of the Semiamhoo Nation found me and introduced me to native women?s groups around the lower mainland. She encouraged me to go north. With total trust I headed to Prince George where I worked as a counselor, workshop facilitator for native groups including the Quesnel Native Friendship Centre and Nenqayni Treatment Centre. Also I was given a drum by a native man. (Name to be disclosed once I have permission) I did not know who this man was. He just walked up to me and gave me a drum. I was a bit puzzled at the gift. I had no idea what to do with it but over time elders showed me. I learned to play and over time the Northern Elders taught me drum making and I started teaching others to make drums. I was also honored to make Drums for world class northwest coasts artists like Eugene Hunt. One of the humbling honors was when Reg Davidson asked me to make drums for his potlatch in 2001. A very good healing story came out of that potlatch.
My greatest memory of drum making was with the young women at Nenqayni Youth & family Inhalant Treatment Centre. As the manager of the Youth Centre I had decided it imperative the young women learn about their cultures. The girls had come from all over Canada, from Newfoundland to Bella Coola and many points in between. I contacted their communities in an attempt to find out something within each community the girls could learn about. The most common was the drum.
The girls made their drums; they painted their drums with their own symbols. On the advice of a Nenqayni Elder we did not teach them songs but let them play their drums and listen for the music inside. We also encouraged them to contact their communities and elders and to learn the songs from their people.
During one of my final days at the centre a hereditary chief came to visit one of the girls from his community. One of young woman showed him the drum and stood proudly and sang and drummed her drum song? which went something like... Say thank you... oh Great Spirit... for this life... That was ten years ago and I still get tears in my eyes when I think of that day. Although difficult to express in words you could see how proud she was to claim her heritage.
Learning the drum making, dancing at the pow wows, learning the Métis jig, and making bannock brought me closer to my own heart. I traveling to South America and learned about the aboriginal culture there. I felt a magical connection with one of the elders there. I could feel my father?s joy and peace as I looked into his eyes.
My father lived with his pain his whole life and I have carried that pain for near most of mine. I feel I can now claim that part of my heritage and no paper will tell me differently. The love and caring of the people allowed me to return to my own heart. A great peace came over me. That peace remains.
The great news is that my daughters know the story and the search I have been on. They did not feel the grief as I did. They were curious to know but do not have the urgency to know. They also know how to make a drum. My youngest daughter has a 6 of her drums proudly displayed on her walls.
The even greater news is that when my grandsons entered school in the North Vancouver School District my daughter declared their native heritage. They are learning much at school about the culture of the Squamish nation and are at ease with their own native heritage. They each have their own drum and likely it is somewhere mixed with hockey gear and Christmas decorations.
I have heard many other stories about residential school abuse, incest, violence and drug and alcohol addictions. Although I believe there is a place for counseling, therapy and education I have come to believe that it is equally important to embrace heritage and culture and be proud of whom you are.
I told this story to Brenda Baptist, the Coordinator for the Aboriginal Pavilion at the Vancouver 2010 Olympics. She told me she was a collector of stories. She also suggested that more and more similar stories will arise. She graciously said to me, "It doesn't matter about the paper as you know in your heart".
and in Feb 2010 - I was contacted by a young women, who wanted a drum design for a women's ceremony in Edmonton. I created the design in less that an hour.. emailed it off to her.. she showed her mother.. her mother was so excited.. and sent me a message back "i am so glad my daughter found an Ojibwa artist to make her drum." Her mother.. from on Manitoulin Island.
I have not up until then made a declaration that my heritage includes Ojibwe.. ?
Dance your dance, sing your song, drum your drum and do it all in a good way.?
