Nephew,
I want you to have my regalia. Dance it proudly. Make it come alive again . . . just like I used to.
If the feathers got a bit squished, ask your mom to steam them. She’ll remember how.
I hope to see you dance one day. Hey, you should come home for our powwow. I can teach you some of my moves.
It’s gonna be a real good day when that happens.
Uncle Fred
Come home. Those words put tears in my eyes. I’d always thought of Ann Arbor as home, but I was beginning to wonder if there were lots of places to call home. I’d talk to Mom later about going home to the powwow. For now, I had to focus on the Dance for Mother Earth Powwow.
As the weekend of the powwow approached, Paul and I spent time going over how the judges would be scoring the dancers. Not that I expected to win or anything, but I needed to know what they’d be looking for so I could make sure I did my best. I wanted my family to be proud of me. To be honest, I wanted to be proud of me.
Paul had written out the judging criteria for me:
Dance style
Stopping (over/under step)
Regalia (authenticity, footwear)
Attitude (sportsmanship)
Judges’ call on song quality
No points if any items dropped
“Regalia. This one you’re going to rock,” Paul said with a smile. I had to agree. My regalia was awesome! Just then, Mom came into the kitchen and placed a package on the table in front of me. “For you,” she said, and kissed my cheek. “Open it.”
“Okay.” I pulled the white tissue off to find a stunning pair of moccasins. I looked at her. “For me?”
Her eyes glistened. “Yes, Rory. For you.”
“Wow, Mom! These are gorgeous!” They were tanned moose hide. The tops were covered with white beads, with black beads in the middle to create an eagle with a turquoise circle around it. Around the ankles was white rabbit fur. I lifted them to my nose. “They smell sooo good! Where’d you get them?”
“I made them.”
My eyes got big. “You made these?”
“Yes, I made them.” A smile spread across her face.
I liked seeing her happy.
Paul pulled Mom in for a hug. “Lila, my love, you never cease to surprise me.”
I stood up and squished myself into their hug. “Thank you, Mom. Thank you.”
Mom pulled away and held my face in her hands. “I’m so proud of you, Rory. Now don’t let me interrupt you two any longer.” She turned to leave the kitchen. “I think you have some more strategizing to do.”
“That we do,” Paul said.
I sat back down, smelled my new moccasins one more time, and then put them on.
“Now you’re really going to rock the regalia category.” Paul smiled at me and looked down at the judging criteria. “Okay, next category. Attitude and sportsmanship.”
Finally, the day we’d been preparing for arrived. I danced in the Grand Entry at the start of the powwow. I wasn’t too nervous, because all of us dancers were part of it, but when it came time for Junior Boys Fancy Dance, everything changed.
I stood near the entrance to the Skyline High School gym, and Paul adjusted my headpiece. “Ready?” he asked.
I shook my head. “I need more time.” The other dancers looked calm, confident.
“Look at me, my boy.” Paul took my chin between his thumb and forefinger. “Don’t be comparing yourself to the other dancers. Uh-uh. When you walk out there, you breathe deep. Feel those Ancestors with you, and on that first drumbeat feel their love come alive in you.”
I gave a slight nod.
“The first time I danced, I was afraid. Shaking so hard my feathers were jiggling. But I’ve learned that sometimes in life, you gotta be brave before you can be good. So that’s what I want you to do, Rory.” He motioned his head out to the gym. “Go out there and be brave. The good will come.”
Just then, the powwow emcee announced, “It’s time for the Junior Boys Fancy Dance.”
I took the biggest deep breath I’d ever taken and turned to enter the gym.
“Rory,” Paul called out to me.
I looked back at him and realized I never would’ve gotten here without him. Actually, so much of who I was, who our family had become and my life now, was because of him.
He smiled at me. “Kisâkihitin.”
I smiled back at him and felt myself relax. “Kisâkihitin, Dad.”
The arena director was motioning for me to keep moving. I took my place in the flow of dancers entering the gym. I shook my head, rolled my neck, lifted my shoulders, and planted my feet solidly. I leaned forward, trying to see past the other dancers to scan the bleachers for where my mom, sister, and Paul were sitting.
When I found them, I gave a nod and they all waved. I could see my mom wiping tears from her eyes. She put her hand on her heart.
I closed my eyes and offered a silent prayer: Ancestors, grandfathers and grandmothers of the four sacred directions. This is your grandson, Rory. I come before you in a humble manner and ask you to be with me as I dance for the first time. Kinânskomitin.
The emcee announced, “Host drum, you’re up. Aho, aho! Junior Boys Fancy Dance. It’s powwow time. Let’s see what you got, boys.”
With the first beat of the drum, I began to dance. I twisted, dipped, bobbed.
I felt alive. Proud. Cree.
Flying Together
Kim Rogers
The time on my smartphone read oh four hundred (0400). It was still too early for a rooster to crow. I’d been up the whole night thinking that if I stayed awake for that long, morning wouldn’t come and Mom wouldn’t be leaving again.
Grandpa Lou peeked his head into my room. The brightness from the hallway spilled into my eyes. I shielded them with my hand as I sprang upright in the blinding light.
“Oh good. You’re up, Jessie girl,” said Grandpa Lou in a singsong voice.
Grandpa Lou never had a problem getting up at any hour—joyfully. “I’ve made breakfast, if you’re hungry. Get it while it’s hot.”
The smell of sausage and french toast wafted into my room, trying to draw me out like a giant invisible “come here” finger, but it wasn’t working. I hadn’t had an appetite—ever since Mom told me the news.
Grandpa Lou closed the door. I threw off my covers. My feet felt like boulders dangling from the side of the bed. I wrapped a blanket around my shivering shoulders, then stumbled toward the window.
Stars still sprinkled the velvety Oklahoma sky. Maybe, just maybe, the sun wouldn’t come up and Mom wouldn’t have to go. And maybe today wasn’t January 5, the day that I’d been dreading for weeks.
I got dressed and combed my messy hair.
In the foyer, Mom’s overstuffed green duffel bags stood at attention, ready to march out the door.
I staggered around like a seventh-grade zombie girl, hoping I was dreaming.
Everyone else flittered frantically around the house. Grandpa Lou loaded the last of the breakfast dishes into the dishwasher at a rapid-fire pace. Our little dog, Fritz, zipped behind Mom from room to room, because even he knew. His metal tag jingle-jangled with his every step. It sounded like a sleigh at Christmastime, but this was no holiday celebration.
Mom, aka Captain Vanessa Stephenson, was going on another deployment to the Middle East. She was leaving me at home with Grandpa Lou and Fritz to fend for ourselves—
All over again.
Don’t get me wrong. Grandpa Lou is the best grandpa ever. And Fritz is a great pup because he likes to cuddle with me when I’m sick or sad or even happy. He’s the best doggie in the whole wide world. Well, except when he tinkles on the floor and makes Mom yell and she threatens to ship him off to the moon.
Before Mom’s socks get soaked, Grandpa Lou usually cleans up Fritz’s tinkles first. He made me an honorary member of the official pee patrol. Fritz is a good name for a dog like him. His bladder is definitely on the fritz 24/7. Even though he�
��s technically still a puppy because he’s not yet one year old, we’re hoping he’ll get an A in potty training soon.
Besides Mom, Grandpa Lou is my superhero. He came to live with us after my parents got divorced and Grandma Grace passed away. He helps me and Mom and keeps us company, and we do the same for him. We all stay less lonely that way. Plus, he gives me hugs and makes me laugh.
One time he made me laugh so hard that Dr Pepper flew right out of my nose. That stuff burns like fire. I so wish that I’d been drinking milk that day. My friend Dylan Jones said that Kool-Aid isn’t so bad coming out your nose either, but only if it’s not red. “Red stuff coming out your nose will freak your mother out,” he’d said.
Grandpa Lou makes the best fry bread in all of Indian Country; it’s my great-grandma’s recipe. He’s teaching me how to make my own. It requires no measuring cups. “Just eyeballing it,” he says.
We like to eat our fry bread with ham hocks and beans or, our favorite way, with powdered sugar like a giant doughnut. Sometimes Grandpa Lou pokes a hole in the middle of the dough before he fries it.
“Like a real doughnut,” I told him.
He winked. “Yeah, a Wichita doughnut.”
Grandpa Lou and I always laugh and eat. Fry bread. Fry bread. Fry bread. Mostly while Mom is working late. Powdered sugar sprinkles our shirts like fresh-fallen snow. Fritz even gets a bite or two of Wichita doughnut and licks the snowy sugar off the floor.
Grandpa Lou is a big kid in disguise. Mom said he never grew up. Grandpa Lou is six foot two, with wavy salt-and-pepper hair. He takes me to places like the amusement park, then he rides the roller coaster with me and makes me sit up front, where he screams the loudest. Everyone stares, but he doesn’t care.
Like Mom, he served in the military. Grandpa Lou was a sailor in the US Navy, where he says he sailed the seven seas. Sometimes he sings a silly song about it.
But there’s something I haven’t seen him do in a while: Dance at a powwow.
“I’ll just watch,” he always says as he stays stuck to his lawn chair at our Wichita Tribal Dance each August. Mom can no longer get him to dance the Veterans’ Song.
“My legs are too old,” he says.
“Excuses, excuses,” says Mom, shaking her head. “You’re not that old.”
“We Elders aren’t spring chickens. I’m more of a winter chicken.”
“A fall chicken,” Mom says.
But Mom and I both know that age isn’t the real problem.
In a few months, Grandpa Lou is taking me to the University of Michigan powwow in Ann Arbor. Mom graduated from U of M and had hoped to visit with a few old friends who live in town. We’d planned this trip long before we knew she was deploying.
I’ll be dancing in the Fancy Shawl competition for the first time at this powwow without Mom to cheer me on. I’ve only competed at the Wichita Dance. But my other mission is to get Grandpa Lou to dance. He just doesn’t know it yet. I’m sad that Mom won’t be there to see it.
“Hey, Jessie girl,” said Grandpa Lou, grabbing his travel coffee mug. “You ready?”
We were headed to Tinker Air Force Base to drop Mom off for her deployment.
Grandpa Lou was wearing his Thunder team baseball cap, a black T-shirt, and faded blue jeans. I guess you could say he was one hip grandpa. Not the kind who wears black socks with shorts to the grocery store.
Mom came rushing down the hallway in her tan flight suit—the one she wears when she’s deploying overseas. Stateside flight suits are green like her duffel bags. Her ebony hair was braided in a tight bun, just above the collar as per air force regulations.
“Jess, do me a favor, please, and let the dog out,” she said. She slung one of her bags over her shoulder and hurried out the front door.
Grandpa Lou grabbed the other bag and followed her to his king cab truck, closing the front door behind them.
“Okay, little dog. Time to go outside. You can’t leave tinkles on the floor, even with Mom going away. It’s not nice.”
But Fritz wasn’t listening. Even wearing his warm sweater, he wasn’t a fan of going outside on wintry mornings. He jingle-jangled over to the window near the front door and peeked out at Mom and Grandpa Lou in the driveway. He cocked his ears to the side and whimpered.
“Oh, you stop that right now, Fritz. She’ll be back before you know it,” I said, trying to convince myself.
Fritz’s whimpering had turned into a bark. It echoed through the house. I looked around. The house was already so empty, and Mom hadn’t even left the driveway. Her Wichita and Affiliated Tribes mug sat on the kitchen countertop—empty too. I wasn’t sure how I could get through another three months without her.
Mom being late wasn’t an option, and I’d had it with that little dog. I put on my coat and gloves and marched him right into the backyard. He ran to the fence, where he stood peering through the slats, sniffing and snorting like a miniature bull as Mom and Grandpa Lou finished loading the truck.
“Get to it, mister,” I said, jumping up and down, trying to generate heat. Then I went back inside so that I could give him some privacy and unthaw my frozen toes.
Ten seconds later, I heard a scratch at the back door. Did he really do his business that fast? Goofy dog.
As we left our neighborhood in the Oklahoma City suburbs, porch lights glowed while everyone else was still sleeping.
On the highway, we passed lit-up fast-food restaurants, frost-covered trees, then Frontier City Theme Park. Under an inky morning sky, the Ferris wheel was all aglow in flashing changing colors. Red. Blue. Green. Yellow.
But there were no signs of human life anywhere, except for one SUV that sped past Grandpa Lou’s truck.
“The only people out at this hour are medical people,” said Grandpa Lou.
“Yeah, and military members,” said Mom.
She had to be right. There were many early mornings when she had to be at Tinker to fly an “out and back”—military talk for a daylong mission. I imagined all the people in scrubs and uniforms driving the highway every morning before dawn—real-life superheroes like Mom and Grandpa Lou.
All three of us yawned in unison as we passed the twinkling skyline of downtown Oklahoma City.
When we got to Tinker Air Force Base, we stopped for a security check. The military policeman saluted Mom; then we drove through the gate.
In a base parking lot, Grandpa Lou tried to help Mom with her bags, but this time she insisted on carrying them all herself.
A bus puttered nearby. The exhaust made it look like a snarling dragon in the dark. Through the illuminated windows, I could see several uniformed people boarding and some sitting in seats. The bus would take airmen to the flight line. (Even women are called airmen.)
My mom is a pilot, and she would be flying an AWACS plane from Oklahoma to the Middle East with a full crew.
Mom set her bags on the pavement, and we hugged and kissed her goodbye. But I wasn’t about to let her see me cry. I bit my lip as she hurried toward the bus. Grandpa Lou put his arm around me. Then Mom stopped for a moment.
“Hey, Jess, I can’t wait to eat some of your fry bread when I get home. You’ll make some for me, right?”
I nodded.
Grandpa Lou gave me a sideways glance. “It will be your turn to fly solo soon.”
I wasn’t ready for all this flying solo stuff. Not with fry bread. Not at a powwow. Not getting Grandpa Lou to dance. Not doing all that without Mom.
As we were leaving Tinker, the sun hadn’t even come up yet, and Mom was already gone. We drove back to a lonely house, where a giant puddle greeted us in the foyer.
“Fritz!” Grandpa Lou and I both yelled.
The months before the powwow flew by faster than I’d imagined. Grandpa Lou and I kept ourselves busy.
My weekdays were filled with school and way too much homework. And in front of Mom’s oversize dresser mirror, I practiced the Fancy Shawl steps Cousin Nora had taught me, worried that I’d mess up come powwow
time.
Grandpa Lou’s weekdays were filled with adding more beadwork to my moccasins, watching his sci-fi shows on Netflix, and taking lots of naps.
Weekends were busy, too, but sometimes sad. One Sunday we drove to Anadarko, Oklahoma, and visited Grandma Grace’s grave, where we left her favorite yellow daisies for her birthday. Another time we drove there just because.
I missed her so much.
I also hung out with my best friend, Rachel Ramirez, watching horror movies and scarfing down pizza. Sometimes Grandpa Lou watched those movies along with us, always hiding his face behind a throw pillow during the really scary parts.
We kept in touch with Mom on Skype. She said she was keeping busy flying missions and that she missed us, even Fritz. We didn’t tell her that he was still getting an F in potty training.
Grandpa Lou continued giving me fry bread lessons. Then one Saturday he said, “It’s all you now.”
I got five handfuls of flour and added this and that, poured in hot water, mixed and kneaded, let it rise, and fried up the dough. He took a few bites. No smiles. No response. Only the sound of sizzling oil cooling on the stovetop.
Then he finally said, “Your great-grandmother would be proud.”
I exhaled, hoping Mom would feel the same when she got home.
Then the day came for Grandpa Lou and me to leave for the powwow. I packed a suitcase with some clothing, my favorite pj’s, and my colorful Fancy Shawl regalia. I ran my fingers over my newly beaded moccasins. Grandpa Lou was one talented grandpa. I hoped he would teach me to bead soon.
On the way to the airport, we dropped off Fritz at the kennel. I narrowed my eyes at him. “You be a good pup.” But he was so excited, he tinkled everywhere.
At Will Rogers World Airport, Grandpa Lou left his truck in the long-term lot. He grabbed a cup of coffee after our security check. “I need something to keep me awake,” he said. When they called for boarding, he chugged it down as fast as he could.
On the plane, Grandpa Lou snored the whole way to Michigan. And I mean snored. Drooled big and everything. I had to wake him a few times because even people on the ground probably heard him. He has a thing called sleep apnea and usually wears an oxygen mask to help him breathe while he’s sleeping. It makes him sound like Darth Vader.
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