Open Adoption

This was not an easy night for our daughter. We were very proud of her. Will and I accompanied her to a circle of people thinking of adopting through Open Adoption. The circle included birth mothers and father who had gone through the process. They were going to share their experiences with the interested future parents.

It was not easy to sit there and listen to the birth mothers and the father talk about their experiences as different as night is from day from Maki's experience. They shared stories with glowing faces about adoptive parents who had become like family -- the gay couple raising the young man's son who sends him and the birth mother pictures each month, calls them, a young woman Maki's age with a son she adopted to a couple the same year, welcomed into the family, a room in the basement when she goes to visit, visiting even on Mother's Day, able to name the baby, her family invited to their family gatherings, or the older former drug addict who had twin boys, also welcome, given pictures every month, phone calls all the time, honored and treated respectfully by the adoptive parents.

It was hard to sit beside our daughter knowing how she is treated by the adopted parents, a law professor for a dad, a stay at home mom, well respected by their peers, and their treatment of our daughter a dirty secret we all keep. I looked over at her expecting tears and saw her soft smile for each couple. I marvel at Maki's good feelings and it makes me proud of her. This is our daughter who came to us at five years old with no expectations of being hugged, no expectations that she should be held in a healthy way, no expectations to have a family stay with her through thick or thin, no expectations of any permanence -- and as a teen, rebelled against a thick or thin, permanent, consistent, big family. Our daughter became pregnant at 18 and when she finally accepted the reality, focused the whole of herself on the twin girls growing inside of her -- stopped her partying, thought of the little ones before she thought of herself. As I sat beside Maki in the Open Adoption circle, I remembered our walks up Mt. Pigsah, her talking to the twins, explaining to the twins what she wanted for them, telling them she loved them, that she was going to work very hard so they would be healthy and feel loved, that she was going to choose carefully two parents with a home who could take care of them and love them too and give them what she could not. She promised she would never abandon them and would be in their lives. She said she would tell them someday what her thoughts were while she carried them. She kept a journal of those thoughts. It was very important as an abandoned child herself that these two little girls did not feel abandoned at all. She would ask me to pray that for her and them. And I did. I prayed that they would always have a happy life and never feel like something was missing. She would squeeze my hand when I said those words. She had no ego. She wanted the girls to feel complete with their adopted parents. I remember Maki talking about how the trees would be there for them anytime they felt lonely. That is what she learned from Grandpa Marvin our Kickapoo relative. Her name meant "tall straight evergreen" and she felt related and comforted by trees. She prayed for the girls. She played calm music for them. She gave up bad food for them, and the drinking and the hard life, just like that for them.

Months before any of these other parents in the Open Adoption Circle did, she picked the parents and made a relationship with them. She honored and respected them. They were 40 years old and she felt they deserved respect from her. One was a professor, Japanese American, the mother Jewish. They seemed friendly, and committed to Open Adoption and seemed respectful of Maki. They were respectful when they came to the hospital, and when Maki let them in the hospital room with her and the twins, and they could carry them. They were respectful at the formal ritual Open Adoption does when the babies are given to the adoptive parents. And then slowly at first and then more and more boldly things changed.

It was hard to listen to the other birth mothers talk about their experience with a tone of entitlement, with such sureness about their importance and status in their children's lives. They referred to them as "my sons." Our daughter does not claim that right. Granted, she went through the same up and down transition as the others, visiting too many times, calling too many times, asking to see them too many times. I was surprised it was common where the birth parents and the adoptive parents compassionately work things out with each other during the tough transition. Now that I look back on it I see that the girls' adoptive parents did not handle it as the other adoptive parents of that circle. M., the mother, would call me and I would have to rein Maki in. I had no context or understanding of Open Adoption. I should have said, "call Open Adoption" and let them work it out together. So from the beginning, I now see that the commitment to Open Adoption just was not there for them. The conversation was sabotaged. There was no intention to communicate with Maki herself. From the beginning, Maki's presence was like a fly in the ointment.

For the past seven years, Maki would call politely and ask for pictures. She hinted she wanted some she could frame, not the emailed pictures which printed into tiny little squares -- a hundred little photos sent as if to keep her satisfied for a long time so they wouldn't have to bother. She would ask if she could visit and has been able to only a few times during the girls' lives, maybe three times in seven years. She called and left messages. No return calls. One day she said to me, "I think I should just not bother them anymore. Maybe I can ask for one picture a year?"

I said, "Maki, you know, the adults in your life have not kept their commitments to you so you are someone who maybe even thinks you don't deserve commitments kept. But you deserve it. You deserve to be respected. These parents owe you what was promised." So she would call or write and ask again.

It's been so long I don't remember the exact words or even the request but I finally sat down and wrote M. and K. a "mother to mother" letter asking them to have compassion for our daughter. I think I did tell them that Will and I did not expect nor will we ask to be part of their lives but that we wish for them to have compassion for Maki.

Fast forward to the Open Adoption circle tonight. How was it that we became part of the circle. Maki moved home to be close to us last year. She came as a grown, mature woman, able to take care of herself, a forthright young woman whose power is truth. Maki is vivacious, energetic. She does what she believes is right and fair. She has lots of friends because she is fun and does things for them. But once in awhile she admits how sad she is and asks, maybe I should give up and not bother them. I know who she is talking about. I don't even have to ask. "Maybe if they could just send pictures a couple of times a year." I told her you have two choices. Wait until they are 18 because they will come to find you. All of us look for the parent eventually. And when they do, you should show respect for their parents and never say anything bad. She said, "Yes, of course. I would do that, Mom." I knew that. I think we all were so jumpy about how the two adoptive parents see us, like "beggers" waiting for a handout on their front lawn. I think we all felt ashamed and apologetic deep down. And the other choice? Go to Open Adoption and ask for advice.

She did. And Open Adoption responded with such clarity. No hesitation. They called M. and talked to her. They read her the contract. I won't go into detail but they got the picture. They picked up the tone, the lack of intent.

According to Open Adoption, Maki's situation is a very rare case, which is good. I am embarrassed for the two adoptive parents to have taken such a road to become one of the least sensitive parents of this organization. But our family has a mantra, "the girls are happy. They are really good to the girls." And we try to let it go.

Open Adoption told our daughter her rights. They said she could even ask for us to be grandparents which she shared with me. "I'm sorry, Maki. We will support you, but we have experienced M. She has no intention for us to be in the picture. The twins have grandparents already. Your dad and I made a decision a long time ago for peace for the girls and not provoke the adoptive mother." We will, however, support Maki's right to see the girls and the Open Adoption process.

So that's how we came to be in that circle. When it was Maki's turn to speak, I put my arm around her. Was she going to be able to follow these exemplary Open Adoption stories without breaking down? It was overwhelming, the difference. Following the other birth parents who boldly shared what they demanded and got, she would say, I never would think of asking to see them on Mother's Day. I never would have asked to have them flown to my home. I never thought I could go to a family gathering or fly in and expect to stay at their house. She did not expect anything, maybe two pictures a year, a call back, an email back.

Finally I spoke. The question was, are there any suggestions for these prospective parents?

"I have something to say. Look deeply into your hearts, be really honest with yourselves before you adopt through Open Adoption. These two people who adopted the girls are nice people, as nice as anyone in this circle." Maki nodded in agreement. "But they picked the wrong kind of adoption for themselves. And that wrong fit made them do bad things. They should have chosen a closed adoption. But because they chose unwisely and followed their own selfish needs rather than their commitment, they have harmed our daughter. If there is anything in you that prefers to have your own family, no interference from the outside, your own holidays, your own lives, don't choose this way just because open adoption sounds cool, valiant, liberal, open-minded. There is no shame in a closed adoption."

I also said, "We are adoptive parents. Our daughter came to us when she was five. She did not know nor did she expect anything but broken commitments. The adults in her life let her down. I had to tell her that she deserved to have these two people keep their commitment. They are adults. They are in their 40's or 50's and should know how to live a dignified life. They are professionals aspiring to the higher echelons of society. They can keep a commitment. I am a "mother bear" in this situation. I am upset our daughter is treated badly, disrespectfully, and still is to this day. I am upset that things are done begrudgingly, and without any respect or compassion for her, of all people."

I hope they listened. I hope none of them adopt through Open Adoption unless they are determined, uncomfortable as it may be sometimes, to honor their commitments. I hope they know that commitments must be kept even if they are much too busy and much too important to bother with a former "troubled teen." I hope if any of them meet the birth mother and she expects the minimum as our daughter does, that they will appreciate her and give her a little more than what she asks. And if open adoption is not for them, I hope they honor and respect and accept themselves lovingly and say, this is not for me. I must parent another way.

I received a letter from M, I suspect as a result of the mediation which Maki sought from the Open Adoption staff. I decided to wait to open it with Maki when she returned from a six week job in Utah, just in case she wasn't sent anything. During the early years when they still lived in Eugene, I received long phone calls from M telling us how much they enjoyed us and how they must have us over to their home. Such phone calls preceded a long disappearance into nothing. This letter felt no different. Intentions are clarified by action. And the actions have made what almost seemed like a cruel game. I don't know how else to explain this strange pattern except as a game. I feel toyed with. But I accept that there are such people in the world. And say the mantra to myself. "The girls are happy. Their parents are good to them."

So I set the letter aside and waited for Maki to come home. If she came home to no letter or pictures, if the letter to us was a retaliatory gesture, I was prepared to go to Open Adoption and ask them to call M and inform her that she is not to contact us to hurt our daughter again. But that was unnecessary. When Maki got home, she had an envelope from M. waiting for her, opened her envelope. Pictures, a letter, a program of Sarah in a play, a piece written by Sarah about her day, a nice crayola drawing from Rachel. I was satisfied and sent a thank you and acknowledgment of the letter and pictures. The girls had grown so much, of course. The last time we saw them or heard anything of them was when they were two years old. Now they were seven and in the second grade!

I suppose I believe in miracles so there may be another letter for Maki from the adoptive parents, probably the mother because apparently, in the arguments between M and K, dealing with Maki has become the mother's responsibility and the father is not involved at all. Perhaps the communication will be done in a timely manner without our daughter having to ask the agency to call the adoptive parents again to remind them of the contract. But I am heartened to know that the agency is more than happy to continue to call those parents for as long as they are needed in order for the parents to remember, and they will not stop. It did me some good to hear a circle of people gasp to a very tamed down version of Maki's experience. She does not want to hurt the adoptive parents. She is the first to admit how busy they must be, how it's easy to forget. The group gasped, nonetheless, and that emphasizes for Maki that she is a human being who counts for something in this world and deserves to be treated as such. The former addict gave birth to twin boys who had weathered drugs and carbon monoxide poisoning before being born. Maki, our wild child, stopped all her wild ways determined to have healthy girls. She talked to them and told them en utero that they were loved and she would always be in their lives in some way. She nursed them while they were in the hospital so they would be as strong as possible. To their credit, the former addict's adoptive parents have no fear or prejudice of her life style and honor and respect her. Meanwhile, my daughter has to struggle and beg so she can keep a promise she made to stop the cycle of abandonment that she suffered and do whatever possible to keep it from the twins' lives.

I saw one thing tonight that really did my heart good. The Open Adoption birth mothers and father, I noticed, held their head high, talked with authority of their high place in their children's lives, as I said. Their adoptive parents helped the birth parents be proud, as they should be, sure of themselves and the good decision they made, and that in making this decision, they could feel that they were good parents. Tonight,although she spoke with much fewer expectations of K. and M. and although theirs is a failed open adoption, I saw my daughter sit with her head held high enough. She no longer felt like an interference. Her cheeks were no longer red with stress, head held obsequiously begging for a bit of a letter or a photo big enough to frame and hold in her hand rather than a hundred mini-shots she has to xerox from a hurried email. She was finally respected. She was respected by the Open Adoption staff who had heard both sides and are helping to smooth the way for both parties to have a successful Open Adoption someday. Our daughter was respected by the prospective parents in the Open Adoption circle tonight because she had so few requests, had kind thoughts and kind words to say about the adoptive parents, had compassion for their situation regarding her. She only came to emphasize how important communication was and to testify about Open Adoptions' staffs' ability to mediate successfully. She came to share her true feelings about the heavy responsibility the commitment brings to it and to think carefully. She carried herself with dignity. I am so happy for her that she finally got some respect for being a birth mother outside of her parents respect for her.

I hope that eventually these two adoptive parents will find the energy, the will, and take the time to integrate their Open Adoption commitment into their lives so that it is not an added bother but instead as important as their important lives are. I hope they break the destructive cycle of neglect and abandonment which our daughter tried so hard to break. Only a birth mother knows instinctively how those things get passed down, how those unexplainable empty spots still hang around deep inside the heart that is not tended.

She picked Open Adoption for reasons others had not even considered in that circle. Tonight I heard their stories and found it missing Maki's most heart felt reasons. She picked Open Adoption for Openness, for the truth, for no dirty little family secrets. She is conscious of the hurtful legacy of family secrets, of BEING a secret. It broke her heart to know the two adoptive parents -- as she calls them HER adoptive parents -- never told the girls they were adopted. Their family doctor unknowingly blurted it out at an appointment and the girls were shocked. M described that to Maki over the phone, how their mouths dropped open. The foundation stones Maki had thought she had carefully placed for her girls were kicked to the side from the outset. They were a secret. She was a secret. They weren't connected. She was made to have abandoned them. And they will carry those circumstances into their "fifteen year old phase." I don't know how or if it will play out. It certainly played out in our lives as adoptive parents. I will pray for the family that same first prayer that the girls will feel whole and want for nothing in their heart and feel things complete with their family. That was our prayer together, Maki and I. Maki was hoping to avoid any possibility the girls would would replicate the hardship of the out of control period of her younger life which came up because as a small child in an orphanage, ripped out of familiar surroundings for a 24 hour jet flight to Eugene, she had no control. She tried hard and planned to give the girls she carried and cared for and talked to and crossed the t's and dotted the i's for a life of great satisfaction, no empty spaces, no secrets, nothing to yearn for without knowing what it is. All for naught. Some people just don't know a gift when they see one staring them in the face.

I wouldn't want that said about me. So I will say, Maki Doolittle is a gift staring us in the face! Many blessings, Maki! We are very proud of you.

WW/ "On" for Granny

Yesterday Will found a video link which showed Granny in 1975 at Ceremony. It was one of her earlier ceremonies which she brought back for the sake of the young people, we think held at Dekkas, her doctoring place. By the time I met Granny, this spring ceremony was known as an Elder's ceremony, giving thanks that the elders -- having gone through another winter, were here with us. At least, that is what she told me that year, and it was a hard winter.

I felt such happiness as I watched Granny saying prayer in her own language, surrounded by her people, blessing them, going into trance as she was going to doctor them. The film stopped there, of course. It was just a little glimpse reminding me of the way she held herself, so strong, when she was taking care of the people, focused energy, and beside her was her translator and cousin, another beloved Elder I was lucky enough to have known, and another elderly cousin who taught me "the ropes" when Maki, my eight year old daughter and I showed up on her doorstep to stay with them until Granny got strong enough from a small stroke the summer after I went to my first ceremony up at Dekkas. They all looked younger on this film, their hair still greying, not white. Granny's translator was heavier. Granny was strong, moving among her people without a walker, she called it her "horse." Granny was the first spiritual leader to follow up on the first Native American Religious Freedom act and apply to bring her ceremonies back.

Recently, I stumbled upon a blog referencing me as a Japanese (correct) Tribal member (correct) and a foolish woman who worshiped Florence Jones as a god. That caused a momentary "ouch" but I understand that non-traditional people could get that idea in this fast world where the generations do not follow in their elder's footsteps so in a hurry to make their individual mark.

I bring this up because this little video clip brought to memory my relationship with Granny -- and how it must look to people who have not been raised in old ways, and those who were non-Indians if they were to observe me at ceremony with Granny. It was my responsibility during that time when her family was very busy hosting hundreds of people, and carrying on the old ways, that there was someone who would make sure Granny was comfortable at all times, and the family kindly let me carry on because that was kind of my role, why I visited every month, why I came for a month during a summer to be with Granny. I liked our relationship. And it continued at ceremony. I'd bring her tea, I'd push her wheelchair. I liked staying with her while others went to the other sites important to ceremony. I fixed her plate up. I liked to sleep in her tent to help her through the night if needed. Those observing this who never had my upbringing would think this was foolish, understandably. But what they were seeing was not a worshiper. They were seeing an old-fashioned granddaughter lucky to have a grandmother who was healthy, with a strong mind into her nineties. She grew precious with each passing day.

The blog which was critical of my actions also gave my blog address out, so perhaps some of you reading find yourself here through that picture of me, so I welcome this opportunity with a clip of my granny (and other people if you're interested). She is very special to her people, and she was very special to our family.

Will and I came to Granny with our newly adopted daughter, five years old, relatively new parents, and already over our head. We were trying to parent the best we could without support. No one had ever walked in our shoes before. Counselors, psychologists were stymied. I'm not going into detail about what we all (including our daughter) were dealing with -- extraordinary circumstances which baffled Holt Adoption Agency. All they could say was that our daughter came from a bad orphanage and they have stopped working with them after meeting her. That was not helpful.

Her story did not fit the neat little legend many adoptive parents get from Holt about a little baby found at a fire station and cared for in an orphanage, wanting a family. Maki didn't want a family. No one asked her what she wanted to do before they ripped her up and put her on a 24 hour plane ride to these two strangers. And before then, no one held her, watched over her, hugged her, spoke to her. Her good memories were guys who put her on their lap and gave her candy for being cute. Clearly, in her new life, that was not the case. Maki soaked in language quickly. Her quick clever mind picked up many things, but the baggage she brought overwhelmed us all.

I will return to this at a later point, and connect it to our Granny.

Yes, I was born Japanese American to a farming family in southern Idaho. I was born after the war by a little over a month, 45 miles from a Japanese American concentration camp but not in it which made all the difference in the world in terms of family bonding and sense of stability including how I felt being Japanese. My family was multi-generational. We spoke Japanese because it wasn't outlawed. We ate as a family not in a mess hall. The circumstances of a failed arranged marriage put my little sister, mother and I with my grandparents, two uncles and an aunt. We were surrounded by caring adults. My first language is Japanese. Since we worked on a farm, the only adults we saw were family and our only playmates, each other. We also were the water carriers for our family in the field, and obediently stayed in one place while they hoed crops so far they appeared as white dots, a half inch high. We were a very traditional family. We were taught, not that we always followed, but we knew the importance of patience, endurance, non-complaining, and giving rather than taking. Obedience was not a bad word. That is fortunate because we waited for our family from the head of the row without investigating the drain ditch having been warned against drowning. We were did this day after day, which now as an adult, I am surprised by our dependability. (Neither of us swim, though, which is the side effect of those days in the field). Obedience was more descriptive to us. It was what our job was as kids who did our part for the family. I remember feeling really good about doing that well, both of us with the burlap water bags in tow for our family as they neared us every half hour or so. May sound weird in the individualistic society all around us, but like I said, on a farm, life was not complicated by what others did or believed. We liked our life, we liked family, it was our rock. Our upbringing had a pre-war Meiji era bushido core with definite "inaka" -- non urban -- leanings. We were mountain people living on the Gifu River. My grandparents raised us in the way they were raised by their parents. That is the only way they knew. Grandpa was born around the mid-1880's and Grandma born around the late 1890's. Their family lived in a mountain village small it had no name close to Kami no Mura. To this day, my grandparents are the only ones of the village to have left it. That means our family were a bit different from those who immigrated from busy seaport cities caught up in the great changes.

One of my core values family values is "On." "On" is that feeling of unrepayable debt a person owes one's parents. I learned about "On" in Japanese language class in college when I was in my late 20's. I never heard the word "On"while growing up, but I must admit that I felt it every day of my life. And, actually, the way I experience "On" extends further than one's parent which I will talk about later. I cannot really put into words sufficiently that feeling of "On." For example, as I'm typing this, the word unrepayable comes up as a misspelling. The concept is foreign to this culture and English. But I will try.

In the presence of the elders of my family I have that feeling of treasuring them, of great fortune to be "of them" through thick or thin. I experience their human foibles on the one hand, and on the other, their moments of courage, all of that with an enhanced emotion. Frustration is accompanied with a feeling of endearment. Adults do some crazy things and I often share with my sister and my cousins some of those stories with laughter and affection, not indignation and embarrassment. If there is a small break and disagreement, it comes with personal pain. It's not something easily ignored. And the good we are given by our parents and grandparents is also enhanced, deepened. It is never unnoticed and taken for granted that we receive much and with sacrifice. They don't have to talk about what they do for us; it is noticed, and felt. I can't describe it except to say having "On" for them is a good feeling to the core. Also when we follow in their footsteps, it feels good. It feels grown. It feels right. We are not embarrassed that we are being naive, unsophisticated and to follow in your parents' and grandparents' footsteps should be avoided. That is a difference between traditional peoples and American society which I have noticed.

In 1950, when I started public school, everything changed and life did become complicated for me. Everything about school was radically different from family life and I began to try to navigate all the cultural conflicts just as many generations of traditional children do, not the least of which is the process to unlearn one's mother tongue. In my days, it was forced learning and on a particularly bad day when I returned home in a condition that revealed to my family that I was being severely punished for speaking Japanese, everyone switched to English when speaking to my sister and me . .. except for my Grandmother who stubbornly held on to her language and was my harbor. But it becomes second nature to my sister and me how to shift from home culture to school culture seamlessly.


Now I move the story to 1968. I leave home to teach in a small Washington school. Like youth my age, 21, I do feel the great change in the country. The Vietnam War was central. My friends were drafted, going to Vietnam. My classmates were dying. Dr. King is assassinated in April, 1968, before I report to school in the morning and when I walk in, the hallway is crowded with celebrating students AND teachers dancing and yelling "the N--- is dead!" I escape by plane disregarding the cost if the ticket on a first year teacher's pay to go home to my family where I can grieve Dr. King then back to work with renewed strength to say to my precious classes, "It hurt to see the celebration of a great man's death so I went home. I tell you this because I care about you and we should be honest to each other." That spring RFK is also killed. I don't have family, friends or community where I fit. My alienation is complete.

It is not until I move to Eugene that I find myself in a community. Advertised in the papers was a class called Asian American Experience, one of the classes added to the syllabus of colleges across the nation after the Berkeley and San Francisco sit-ins and school boycotts where students and faculty sacrificed so that colleges could become more than factories. I joined the class and I finally met a community -- each of us did -- and formed unions inside of the University and community cultural groups in the city. In Eugene, with very few so-called minorities, the unions and community groups worked with one another to support one another. And being who we are, we also played hard with one another. BSU, NASU, AASU, Gay Pride, Bridges (low income political support group). The multi-ethnic networking which I still value today is rooted in those years.

In Eugene, The Asian organizations and the Native organizations, both on campus and in community, began to especially connect. I remember those days when we'd hop in a car to Root Feasts, Pow Wows, basketball games on the reservation, and also to Obon in Seattle, Portland. NASU and the Longhouse community would support our Asian conferences and come to our after-parties. Asians from Vancouver BC to LA would travel through for the conferences, some staying at my house where the parties were. The parties attracted college students and people through grandparents age and the children. THAT kind of party. There were the other kinds too. We would be on each others committees. Pow Wows meant the Asians would be making sandwiches and lemonade by the jugs for the drummers, and would help by housing drums (families) and when that happens, friendships are made and some of them for life. When the friendships are made, from the tribal side everything is shared including family. My family also began to consider my "little brothers" and "aunties" from these relationships their family too. That is how Marvin Stevens and family of the White Horse Drum and Kenny Moses and his family became part of my own family circle.

This leads me back to Granny and my daughter. When our daughter came she came to a community, a huge extended family of Native, Latino, African, Anglo, Asian Pacific uncles and aunties, cousins. But it was not possible to have that fantasy life Will and I had dreamed of, a child to raise in our circle. Maki required something else. Our good friend from the White Horse Drum from Seattle area was a father figure to me. He took care of us down here in Eugene. He married some of my friends. He put a Sacred Prayer Fire in our backyard to help us. He came through each year to see how we were. We learned a lot from him. I would say at that point, we were following a path of life through him. The year before Maki came to us he came through on his way to Granny's Ceremony, his first time, and stopped on his way back. He talked excitedly about this woman Doctor who did with water what others did with fire. He talked about the sacred spring of Mt. Shasta and what he witnessed there. We had news to share. We would be parents of a child from Korea before the holidays and he would be Grandpa Marvin. As a vet of the Korean War, he felt this was a blessing and said he would be very happy to meet his Granddaughter on his way through next time.

I bring this up because by spring after our daughter joined us, we called him for help for our daughter. He said we should wait until summer and he would take us to the ceremony at Mt. Shasta. He said for this, we needed to see a woman doctor, and we needed a doctor who could see us more than once a year. That is when we went to our first Coonrod Ceremony and met Granny and joined the lines of people who came for help.

Granny and her cousin smoked me up and told me to breathe the root in. I shut my eyes and breathed deeply. They asked me to share what I saw. As soon as she said that, images came to me. The first was a little animal on its hind feet and a small pine. Then in front of them the Great Mt. Shasta bolted out of the ground, shoving itself up to a great height. I told her. She said, how do the animal and the tree feel? I said, they feel satisfied to be who they are and for the mountain to be what it is. She responded, "they feel just normal." I said "Yes! That's it!" She coaxed, "what else."


I said I saw Maki's face, laughing, and Granny said, "You think you're a bad mother don't you." The tears came as I nodded. My heart which felt like a clenched fist broke open like a dam and cried too. "Well, you're not," she said.

Grandma took my hands and held it in hers and told me to settle my heart. That she was there for me and my daughter. She told me anytime I needed help, to ask. She said she was my mother. Inside, I felt like a thirsty person drinking her words in like fresh water, and then I remember hesitating because I have a mother. I pushed that guilty thought away and breathed her words in deeply, opening wide up for this blessing.

Then just as the next image came in, her translator clapped loudly and then he shouted, "Did you see that!" and the image disappeared leaving me confused. I opened my eyes when I heard him not focusing. I heard him, "that white butterfly just came out of her and flew away." It was finished and I got up on wobbly legs, and the next person in line took the chair to be doctored. (By the way, after years with the Winnemem I know what that third image meant. It was simply my old friend Mark Miyoshi's Winnemem Name in a picture. I saw it even before Granny met him. She met him two years later.)

I continued down to Ash Creek where my little brother Roger Amerman was with our kids, his two sons and my daughter. He said, "Hey, Misa! You should have seen it. This little white butterfly came and touched the head of each of the kids and flew away!" Our children splashed and loudly joined in in excitement of the white butterfly that touched them. They felt special.

The June after the second time I went to ceremony at Coonrod is when my daughter and I started going every month to Granny. We spent the month with her to take care of things after a small stroke but Granny had used her medicines and showed no effects of it. She did need her rest though.

This is where those who are raised differently miss out in understanding what our relationship is. They call it worship. I felt such solace and comfort there with my then eight year old daughter. I felt more myself in my skin than anytime before since I left my Idaho family. I was me, peaceful, and grounded. My heart felt normal, it felt the way I felt at Home around my grandparents and my mother. That is my niche, to help my elders. To be happy together WITH them. Granny's cousin had taught me exactly how Granny likes her kitchen. I figured out what kinds of food Granny liked by our visit. I learned when she liked her tea. And I improvised what I wanted to serve her, a treat with tea, something healthy and yummy for dinner, things cut for easy eating. It made both of us happy. And my daughter learned by watching and being there, by serving Granny. This didn't have to be one of those "back when your mommy was your age" speeches children hate. Maki got to feel the best childhood I could give her, my childhood with grandparents, helping her mother. My daughter and I cleaned the house as I was sure Granny liked it. We went outside. There was a litter of pop cans. I said, Granny doesn't drink pop. Let's pick these up for her. She'll feel so much better when she can look out at her yard at her roses if we picked up the cans."

I also noticed that her helper had mowed the lawn with the tractor mower and mowed over newspapers because the ground was littered with strips of paper. We took a rake to it. We made short work of it together. It was still cool in the morning and a few hours before we should fix lunch and the hot early afternoon. When we went in, her cousin, Leona said, "She (pointing toward Granny's bedroom) that that woman works like a man." I filled up with happiness. I shared that with Maki, that Granny said we worked good and hard.

My daughter's days were filled with puppies and kitty kats which helped her heart. We would take Granny on rides. We would sit out at the pond or in the backyard and just listen to the insect buzz in the sunshine.

In my private prayers I thanked the Creator for filling that sad and lonely place with another Grandma. I was Grandma's girl and when my Grandmother died, I, the whole family was, as my uncle described, thrown in all directions. He said she was the hub of the wheel who kept us together. It was true. We were scattered and never came together as a clan after she died.

Granny made a home for our daughter far from the chaos of urban Eugene on her little farm with animals, a pond, and roses, three elders, where her heart could grow. I felt part of a village, not alone raising our daughter. At ceremony, it was the same thing.

Caleen who is now Chief was the first person in Maki's life to say to a circle of women, this little girl must be told No when she is doing something wrong. The men need to be told that they must say No to this little girl when she is doing something wrong. It is their job as uncles. And Maki sat on my lap and listened. She listened to me frankly talk about what was happening and listened to her Auntie Caleen and felt safe. I didn't know that at the time but now as adults when we talk together, she appreciates the adults so much who took the time and had the courage to be honest with her.

Florence Jones, Emerson Miles and Granny's daughter Margie are our daughter's Rock. Florence Jones is my second mother. She was my doctor and cured me of small things and big. She cured me of cancer the same year she cured two of my friends who came to her for help. She saved my mother's life. My mother was given very little hope when she was taken in for her second heart surgery. But the morning of the operation when I went to her room she was smiling and said, a star landed on my feet last night and traveled up my leg to my head, and I felt so warm inside. I'm going to be alright. I knew what happened because I had called my Granny that night outside the hospital to share my sadness of the doctor's dim hopes and she said she would go out to the Fire and to settle my heart. She would pray for my mom.

Despite the fact that the operation could not help her and considered a failure, my mother lived to be almost 90 years old. She lived about twelve years more -- able to live independently, take cruises to Alaska and tours to Asia, and finally live four years with me which was a blessing for me.

And that is what I owe my Grandma Florence -- no less than for rescuing our family, for rescuing our daughter whose life was twisted by neglect and prolonged abuse and who is now healed and who is now a strong, happy adult, for curing me of cancer, for saving my mother's life so that she could experience an independent and carefree life she had never before, for introducing us to her sacred places so they will know us, for taking care of us all like a Mother my Doctor and Spiritual Leader.

So it is not worship I feel for Granny, not anything as foolish as that. It is the deepest feeling of unrepayable debt. It is "On." That unrepayable debt means that you are blessed with the drive to "do the right thing to honor Life and future generations because of what was done for you by those who took care of you" and it is a gift which keeps on giving.

One more note. I notice, though my life, that immigrants and their children learn very quickly what part of their culture, their family, their way of life must be checked at the door before entering -- before entering the school, the classroom, the meeting, the job, whatever place. We automatically learn what things about ourselves will cause us to be misunderstood, limited, judged, overlooked, disrespected, put in danger, whatever the level of negative response. Being a hyphenated American can feel mentally unbalanced, I've always explained, like a split personality. But I have found a better more accurate metaphor through Karen Yamashita's excellent new novel I-Hotel about our generation and the state of the nation 1968 - 1980. Being a hyphenated-American is like being conjoined twins with yourself (Siamese Twins). We are seen as freaks no matter what, dragging along the American me and the traditional me.

I have not experienced a hyphenated identity in a tribe. There may be a moment or reaction individually from time to time, but in the big picture of the tribe and everyone in it, in tribal societies, we can bring our whole selves in -- just do it with respect. My husband who is Anglo by birth, and I who am Japanese by birth do not have to leave anything outside the door as citizens of the Winnemem tribe. Sometimes we both have that awkward moment of doubt if we are interfering with a tribal person's view of how things should be but that's more our worry, or our putting too much on something not important at all. We are solidly tribal members whether we are at the village and ceremonies or whether we are here in Eugene. As Caleen says, it is our belief, our path. As Granny helped me clarify, "where do you go for your kids? where do you go when you're sick? where do you go to pray?" We go the Winnemem way. It is the way of the least contradictions, the least compromise of my childhood upbringing, the least violation of our most deeply felt values, where the core and center is, what is the most important in Life for Will and me.

So for those who came to my blog through the person(s) unknown to me who judges me foolish because my relationship with Granny is different than what they're comfortable with, thank you for reading and taking the time to hear my point of view.

Here is my Granny before I met her. It is in 1975 after she brought back her ceremonies, the first spiritual leader to apply to do so after the First Native American Freedom of Religion Act was passed.

Tam Tran's video on You Tube

Tam Tran, May We Carry on Her Work

Today I found out through Facebook posted by our new friend filmmaker Patrick Epino of the death of two passionate warriors for immigrant justice, Tam Tran and Cinthya Felix. Tam was known by APA's for testifying about her and her family's experience. She is undocumented. I am posting this so you can learn what she stood for for many and keep pushing your Congressional delegation to push the Dream Act forward.

http://drop.io/tam_video/asset/tam-mov

WW/ Young Winnemem Leaders

Will and I went to the village last week to interview and video the younger people and Dance Captain Rick Wilson. We assumed it would be difficult. Things seemed to be different when we arrived, however. The young men did not disappear as they usually do when they see Will with his equipment. They stayed around as they normally do. When I mentioned we wanted to film them, they said, "Ok."

Incredulous, I said, "Robbie too?" Yes, he was going to also.

We set up on the knoll, trying to get away from the generator's noise. When we had come back from New Zealand over four weeks before, the gang had driven home to find that PGE had turned off their electricity. RT had cooked a welcome home feast, luckily most of it done while there was still power, but the table was lit with lanterns. That's what happens when you use all resources for airline tickets including the electric bill payment for two months. Then PGE, in what seemed to be retaliatory (Winnemem are one of several suing them), levied costs above and beyond, which eventually the tribe had to take to the top and argue. Until the hefty bill is paid, it's lights out at the ranch. Only Mark's elderly father has power 24 hour through the generator, and his sister Karen is on power from 9 to 8. Everyone else makes do. Granny always said to go to bed when it's dark and get up when it was light. Right now, at the village, there's no other option.

So Will set up the chair, camera, screens and Jamie was the first to sit down. Will asked the questions as I held the mic'. Will asked Jamie to look at me when answering the question so he would be looking more directly at the lens. Jamie cooperated and Will began the long interview. I was so impressed. Jamie answered every question thoroughly and with such heart. He talked about how he felt as a dancer, how he felt about the Maori family. He talked about how he felt about the salmon. What he thought about as he touched them. Finally, I asked him what he brought back from that experience to tell the world. He said, "These are the changing times. And it requires that the human being does some changing." He talked about the importance of changing our habits, and to work for the earth. He said so much more and so much better than I am doing here. I couldn't help thinking where else do young people think and talk this way?

Robbie, who usually has nothing to say when the camera is rolling, although noticeably uncomfortable, put that aside and shared what he thought about to keep himself focused on the dance. Robbie said once he started after the first day not eating didn't bother him. Dancing all day didn't bother him. "I think about my family. I think about how Nathan (his youngest little brother) might be able to see the salmon back in the river. My dad and I never were able to. So I danced hard and thought about Nathan being able to see the salmon in our river." His Grandmother watching from behind the camera and I were shamelessly crying, tears streaming down our faces. Will remarked as we took a break, "I was wondering why Robbie was looking away from the camera." Helene, his grandmother, and I laughed. "Sorry," I sniffed into the tissue.

We had to find Babers who really really didn't want to do the interview.

We saw Rick, Dance Captain, going into the house. As I greeted him, he asked, "Have the boys been interviewed yet? I told Jamie if they did he could drive my pickup to the Stanford Pow Wow." AHA! So that's why!

When I shared that news with Will he said, "I was wondering why they changed their clothes and were standing waiting for me" and we laughed. I referred to Rick as Producer after that -- the guy who gets people there.

I walked up to Dan's trailer, preparing myself to coax Babers, who has a mind of her own. When I opened the door, before I could step in, out came Babers with her mother close behind saying "Yes you can. Remember when . . ." and while she listed off memories, Babers argued "but I did nothing! All I did was get sick. I didn't do anything."

So funny. I remember Babers organizing people at the airport, slinging the baggage onto the racks. I remember her making friends with New Zealand. And the salmon dance. Who could forget the beautiful dance done by the younger women.

Babers and her mother kept up their chorus all the way up the hill.

But when Babers was seated, and was asked the first question and began to speak, young as she is, shy as she is, all the knowledge was there. Babers hangs with her family a lot especially with her mother and her dad. She is a great comfort to her father, and her mother's closest confident. She knows the stories. She's listened hard to why things are done, what our purpose is.

Then Will asked her about going to the hatchery stream, releasing the little salmon into the water, Babers answered that it was sad. "Because it's like you got to see your family for the first time after many many years" then she stopped, swallowing hard. I felt so badly sitting their silently knowing that we could just as easily say something and stop what was just about to happen, stop the breaking of expression, the tears, but my job was to hold the mic' and not interfere. Will kept the camera going, as Babers' voice broke tearfully but she finished her thought,"It was like seeing them for the first time after a long time and then at the very same time, having to say goodbye."

When Will had finally asked Babers if she needed a break and offered her a tissue, her father who knows her well came up from where he was standing, saying exactly the right things which would make his daughter laugh out loud. As Will tried to talk about how much he appreciated her interview his voice broke. Babers made the videographer cry and that deserved another laugh from us all, all of us crying around and laughing.

I'll stop here to say that this is a tribe whose salmon stopped swimming their river in 1938. No one alive at the ranch have ever seen the salmon in their river. They haven't fished for them, done ceremony at the river for them. Most people would have "lost their taste for the salmon" as a tribal council person said to Caleen when she went to them to ask for support to go to New Zealand to bring the salmon back. "Our kids don't even like to touch them."

Yet these Winnemem youth, from birth praying for the salmon, the water, their Sacred Places, their way of life, going to ceremonies and praying around the Fire, growing up together around the Sacred Fire, following the Sacred, they have not lost the connection. Yes, being young and traditional, these youth are often overwhelmed by shyness, but when they have to speak, the words which come out express such a clear, pure and intimate relationship with all that their ancestors held dear and with such commitment and authority, they know how one is to live with the Sacred way of Life.

Tonight, at my computer, I googled "Winnemem Wintu" as I do when I feel a little homesick. I stumbled onto writings of people who are not around the tribe yet write as if they know the Winnemem, jealous resentful slanderous words. It saddened me just as the hateful, shallow stuff I hear on the nightly news saddens me. There is so much work which must be done with this gift of life we are given. Detours get in the way. But as Granny always said, name it and give it to the Creator. And then go on. So tonight (and it's 4 in the morning) I thought about Jamie, Robbie and Babers, and the future in their strong hands. I remembered Michael, speaking for his people at the Maori school without being prodded, grown into being a full adult, and how well-spoken he is, knowing exactly who he is and what he was put on earth to do as a Winnemem. He has grown into a spokesperson. He carries himself with great dignity. Michael's strength is the humbleness with which he stands before the Sacred and the power of his commitment to follow that way of life. I remembered James in the stream where the big salmon were coming back into the hatchery, with rubber waders on. He reached down to pick up a salmon for the first time ever,and stood up just like that, holding the big fish who really did not put up a fight. He did it as if he had done it every day of his life. I happened to be standing by Jill, his mother. "He's just like his Grandpa. I'm looking at him and it's like looking at my dad. He was a fisherman back then . . ." I could fill in the blanks in her silence, "when the salmon were still swimming in our river" and pressed her arm as she wiped away tears. This was a very emotional day for the tribe, and recounting it brings back all the emotion as if it is fresh.

I remember the heart with which these young men danced, stronger with each day they dance and fasted. I remember Arron who inexplicably dances just like his ancestors danced in the old days, who helps his Aunt Caleen with the root, smoking up the people, who always sits with the adults and listens deeply much more than he talks, who is not shy about talking to Olelbis, but is tongue tied with the public. (Now, Arron did not surprise us and disappeared as soon as we got there. He has a sixth sense for cameras.) I remember Jesse who danced with his heart on fire. I remember Ben, wearing the Headman's headgear on his behalf and coming into his own as a dancer, no longer tending the Fire. I remember Chris who flew in just for ceremony, the lone drummer for four days, drumming steadily with unwaivering strength by himself, blisters and all. I remember the young ones, the Firetenders, Jared and Nick, also fasting, who were responsible for the Fire burning four days and nights. And I remember the 60 year old dancer, David, for whom fasting is not that safe, fasting anyway for four days and dancing strong. I remember the Dance Captain, who is not comfortable with the title but is a natural born leader, inspirational, able to get people to do what they need to do. I remember ten year old Aroara who embraced every moment and all things. She never asked to go to stores or buy things. She never said she was bored but looked on everything as perfect. Everyone was a friend. All food was good. Nothing in nature was icky or too cold or too hot or too long. That's the way to present yourself to the world. As I remember each of these, it helps me tonight.

It's not so hard to push away any angry hateful words and do as Jamie says about his dancing. "We're supposed to focus." The Winnemem will focus on the salmon. Robbie thinks of how the fish moves, how the fish feels. As Caleen said at ceremony, the salmon will let us know what the rivers and oceans need for them to live, and by following them, we can turn the climate change around. We must focus. We must focus on the future generations not on old grudges. Just as Robbie says, the most important thing is that little Nathan gets to see the fish swim in their river. We must focus. As Babers said, we're doing this because if there's no more salmon, then there's no more of anything. No sidetracks. We can't afford to waste precious time. Listen to the young leaders. "Sawal mai mus bay les bom. Pi bohay Wintu tot. Waiken lewayges mis." Listen to the Sacred. Follow and everything will be as it should be.

WW/ Maori TV

I just viewed the Winnemem Wintu Salmon Ceremony on the Rakaia story Maori TV covered. It was done very well. I remember the night the director and videographer came to the Marae to talk to Caleen and Mark. I must commend them on their patience. They had to wait quite a bit because that was also the night before ceremony and a lot had to be done. But wait they did. The Winnemem expressed their concerns. The leaders were heard and were respected.

Here is the website:
http://www.maoritelevision.com/Default.aspx?tabid=224&progid=1080&epid=5845

I watched the whole program. The issues covered were very interesting. And for me, it was a treat to hear the language.
The Winnemem story follows these programs:
A story on the New Zealand and US position on the UN Declaration of Human Rights for Indigenous People. New Zealand is reconsidering and seem to have the leadership to ratify it now. The US, of course, is a different story. They talk about looking at it again, but Obama's representative is saying for "federally recognized tribes." That is cynicism at its worst. The whole Federal Recognition process is a huge violation of human rights of indigenous people, so, of course, it's just testing and hoping "you can fool most of the people most of the time." Americans, please stand up and be counted.

The second story is about how Aborigine TV in jeopardy and shows that although Australia ratifed the UN Declaration earlier (after first refusing to), and has issued apologies to the aboriginal people for a history of genocidal policies, they have not followed up these promises with action regarding some issues like the future of the Aboriginal tv network. A colonial state of mind seems still exists.

The third story is a Maori boxer's interview.

Then it is the Winnemem story including clips borrowed from Will of the California sacred areas.

This is followed by a rugby story.

Maybe you'd enjoy the whole program too.

Going to California today and will catch up on what's been happening. I know the judge has passed some kinds of comments on the Winnemem's human rights violation suit against the US government to their lawyers. I also am interested to hear more about the Winnemem leaders' meeting with the CA Fish and Wildlife people about reintroducing the salmon. And finally I'm going to learn about where we are about the Coming of Age Ceremony. Does the racist decisions by present Chief Forester of the Dekkas area still stand, the refusal to shut down a small part of the river from recreational boaters so the ceremony can go undisturbed and the young women can be guaranteed safety for only four days?

Steps forward, steps back, steps forward. There's a reason we've had the Prayer Fire going each month here in Eugene with all it's Fire Rules in the city.

Candence and Jayden's youngest brother shows his stuff

Here is Little Michael, Jr. who danced in his older brother and sister's music vide doing his own Robot: