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1529 Hours
To continue with my life experiences, previously known as “Growing Up REZ” or “The Book of Jon”… haven’t really decided which way to go yet. But anyway…
Growing up on the “Rez” was probably not any different from any other town back in those days. Sure, there was most likely more than the fair share of alcohol being consumed around here. At a rapid rate I should add. But in the end, later on in life I realized that I was missing something from my childhood. I would always hear “Traditional Ways” in elementary school. I didn’t know what that meant. To this day, I’m still not familiar with all of the native traditions. Was I supposed to ask when I was a kid? Was it supposed to be taught to me by someone? What the f***?! But life did go on for us back in the early 80s. Not the way you see in the movies or TV, but it still did go on for me.
Early memories of getting off the bus (check me out, I sound like an immigrant) or Uncle Joe’s car are spotty at best. Free from the concrete jungle that was “The Proj” on the Southside of Minneapolis, I was ready to take over “The Rez” at the tender age of 4.
While getting used to my new environment, there were these new practices that I would have to get used to; such as waiting. You see, down south, it was just me and my mom. I waited for nothing. But I got accustomed to waiting quite fast thanks to the presence of my grandma. For some reason I always thought she had it in for me. Just a feeling I’ve had back then. It turns out she wasn’t very fond of my father. That explained a lot.
Living with them was a learning experience, much like everything was for a 4-year-old. My grandpa was another story. At the time, I was the second youngest grandson, old enough to interact with, so he took a liking to me right away. One thing he didn’t like though was my name. Rumor has it my dad named me after a football player, Lydell Mitchell of the Baltimore Colts by way of Penn State. When my grandpa heard what my name was, he did what he did when another cousin of mine had a “girl’s name,” he called me Jon, my middle name. So from then on, everybody has called me Jon. It wasn’t very creative like some of the nicknames in Red Lake (Hunk, Dude, Shitty, Otis, Ducker, Gawboney, Geeb etc.), but effective nonetheless. God bless grandparents.
With all the getting accustomed to the lifestyle that had been in place for generations, it was time to make my mark on the place. My first step towards taking control of Red Lake was Head Start. You couldn’t get anywhere without education, I thought. Well, maybe I didn’t think that, my mom did.
While getting my vitamins and breakfast before the red van that would take me to Head Start pulled up, my mom and grandpa had a discussion about my impending dive into education. He asked what I would lean at school. She told him I would interact with small human beings like myself, paint objects and probably take a nap. Well, Grandpa Shorty was having none of that. He told my mom that I could sleep at home. Guess who wasn’t going to Head Start? So in between eating breakfast and watching “The Jeffersons,” he taught me how to tell time and would later teach me a valuable lesson… appreciate the sanctity of baseball by way of the Cubs.
