Grandma’s Storytelling

When I was born into my father’s family I was one of the first grandchildren with a light complexion and lighter colored hair.  To make things even more difficult, I was very thin.  Sometimes I was referred to as “scrawny.”  I wasn’t the picture of health.  In contrast to the other grandchildren who had darker complexions and dark hair, I looked pretty sickly.  Infant mortality in Indian communities was high and I recall family discussions of my “poor” health.  I continued to be pale and scrawny throughout my early years.  I ended up being sandwiched between two beautiful and robust sisters who both had dark complexions and dark hair.  My grandparents worried about me.

It was a family tradition that my Grandmother Wolf would tell stories to all of the grandchildren.  Each grandchild had their own special story that Grandma told over and over again, especially to them.  Mine was “The Ugly Duckling.”  I hoped I would get Cinderella or something else but I always got The Ugly Duckling.  Like most children, I compared my story to the stories of the other grandkids.  My story always seemed a little bleak.

When I was growing up, it wasn’t fashionable to be Indian.  My father worked construction so we moved quite a bit while we followed the work.  I was in sometimes two or three schools a year.  Interestingly, I was not white enough for the white kids and not Indian enough for the Indian kids.  I learned to be ok with being alone and observing life around me.

It was many years later that I recognized my Grandmother’s wisdom.  She prepared me in a way a child can grasp, that being different may hurt for a while but it is possible to find the group you really belong to.  I have become the swan.  Thank you Grandma.