The Residential Schools Appology - waking up slowly

The day of the Residential Schools apology Joel and I had hope.  We thought this would be the start of a new relationship between aboriginals and newer Canadians.  It was going to be historic.  We wanted Sophie to watch, she was still three, but it was going to be history.  It seems pretty naieve in retrospect.

That day was slow at work so I decided to look up my family and figure out a bit more about them.  It seemed like a good day to do it.  I was a proud Canadian.  We were going to make peace with our past and redraw our relationship with aboriginal peoples.  It was going to get better.

I didn't know that Metis people went to residential school too.  I didn't know that one of those people was my grandfather.  I didn't know how much the intergenerational scars of family dysfunction, destruction and substance abuse were also my story.  As I read more, pieces of information that never quite made sense fit into the narrative.  The cold remote father my mother knew.  The lack of ties to the Metis community.  The alchoholism and despair.

I wish I could give a dramatic narrative that my life changed after that.  I didn't, but it was the start of a journey.  From that day on my family was Metis.  I was not metis, but it was there a real part of my world.  It was all realer.  My great great grandfather was arrested with Louie Reil.  My Great grandmother was the first Metis nurse in Alberta.  I was proud of these things. 

I thought of my grandfather, who was sent, by his father to the orphanage.  Who had just lost his mother, was pulled away from his father, siblings and community thrust into the care of nuns.  He was three.  Who was there to teach him to be a proud metis?  Who was there to take care of him and hug him?  S was three.  I could not imagine sending her away.  It haunted me that small sad child from so long ago.

I left work in a daze and went home to talk about things with Joel and S.  S spent the next few days worrying that Stephen Harper would come in through the cat door to take her away like they took kids away to residential school and while a part of me felt harsh bringing that fear into her world, it was also vital.  That is our past.  That is the map of our history.  That was harsh.  It is harsh and we need to look at it face on if we are going to heal.

Thinks didn't change for country that day but I did slowely start to change.  To pay attention a bit more.  To read a bit more.  To be aware of those ancestors who shaped my world.  To wonder a bit more often if I had some responsibilities I was not looking after.