Where's Dad an editorial by Nitanis

Where’s Dad?

   Nitanis Bear                                                                                                                 

  October 31st, 2017 9:21 am

When I close my eyes and imagine a family, I automatically picture a two parent household with children. I picture a mother who’s happy with her job and kids. A father who’s devoted to his family and loves his life and the kids who are ultimately cherished while they grow up. My image is true for the most part, except for the whole dad experience. Cross him out and that’s my family.

I have no dad. That’s his choice. But I have a hardworking mom, a teenage sister, a loving kokum (grandmother) and an energetic little cousin, as well as two kind uncles and a black dog. Whew, that’s a lot to Say.

When I do the math, I have to Cross out the men in my family. My dad who left. My uncle who went to jail. My other uncle who’s living in his own little World. And no grandfather to speak of... Yeah. That’s my family.

In order to understand why this is, it’s important to note some history. Way back in the day, there was my people, the plains Cree. My ancestors believed in a strong community and had a firm belief in love and support in one another. It really did take a whole village to raise a child.

They lived, fought, and thrived in their homeland following their own tradition and laws. Then everything was uprooted in first contact when the First Nations met the new settlers. The newcomers wished to establish roots in the land the First Nations occupied. The First Nations provided hospitality to the settlers and taught them how to survive. They did not know what was in store.

A couple decades past and the Europeans had settled. Under the Indian act, Residential Schools were created, taking young indigenous youth from their communities, and putting them in often cruel environments. The motto was "kill the Indian, save the child." And they did.

They banned the youth to speak their native tongue, alienated them from their families and taught them how to be rule abiding Christians. Although, this varied according to severity, but most oftentimes the children had awful experiences at these Residential Schools.

Where once they had the support, love, and their culture to guide them, they now had nothing. They had to figure out how to live in a society that wasn’t ready to receive them.  When you have no family to support you, or nothing to fall back on, you fall on yourself to cope. And there were not many good strategies for that.

Substance abuse, domestic abuse, lateral violence, self-harm, etc. All unhealthy coping mechanisms for these now wearied, lost people. The aftershocks, would wash down generations and affect family after family, including mine.

I always considered myself lucky growing up. I was one of the luckier ones, the blessed ones. Sure, I didn’t have a strong father figure, but I had a strong loving mom and small family that loves me. I didn’t have fatherly guidance but I had some sort of love. Some kids didn’t have any of that love.

I always saw the effects of these inter-generational effects of colonialism and of Residential Schools. It was my friends and their sometimes abusive households. Or my friends and them not having enough to eat. Or my family and three generations without a father. That’s a lot.

It all starts with my great grandfather (moshom in Cree) and his time in Residential School. I don’t know what his experience was like in there, but I do know that it disturbed him enough that he became a drug abuser. His experience there mislead him. He didn’t know how to be a father to my mother and so she was fatherless.

My mother grew up with my kokum, who held the home down and took care of three children by herself in a tricky time. Not having a father meant that she had to double down and play both roles to the best of her ability. As my mom grew up she had lots of responsibilities on her shoulders at a young age. When she was a teenager she moved to Prince Albert and met my father.

My father was a kind and generous man at one point, but he was still flawed. Late in their relationship he became abusive and it was not a good environment. He had attended residential school at one time in his life as well, and he wasn’t a prepared individual. He let his inner sadness consume him. My dad left early in my life. It was a tender age, where I remember who he was but not how mean he was. It hurt lots.

My mother repeated the cycle and took care of two children on her own. All of the responsibility was placed on her. She had to be a rock for everyone in her family. I am very grateful that she took care of us.

This year, my uncle was convicted of second degree murder, but it was lessened to manslaughter. He was the last strong male figure I had in my life. He’s incarcerated. It’s all just one big cycle. Where most of the time the men can’t cope and it’s left to the women to pick up the pieces.

And even though it hurts a bit when I think of that image now. And As much as I wish that I had a dad, or my uncle wasn’t in jail, or I had a grandfather; I can’t change the past. And maybe I can’t change the past, but there’s a bright side to this story. We can all reflect on our families realities, and move onto the future.

Sources

Picture: https://pixabay.com/en/daughter-girl-father-holding-hands-2590806/