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Table Of Contents

Stuck on the bench
con . . . fuSion
hearT-Wrenching MoMenTS
To help, Believe and don’T deSpair
To know me is to know my mother is my compass
In the beginning . . . The Word
Lo Injusto—what is not fair
America scar/red me . . Vicarious Trauma
¡Hay Dios Mío!
Why does AmeriCa hate me?
AmeriCanned Dream
Too indian
Chalk Dust
Prairie Chicken
Looking for a friendly face
Relief
We loved WhaT aMerica haTed
The Army . . . Salvation
Body Dysmorphia
Back Home
AmeriCan Bully
Praying for Paying for it
look ouT!
Close Encounters
De Grading System
pracTice MakeS perfecT
My firST love
Return to the Scene-of-the-Crime
Where Were you, When he died?
noBody goT aWay
loS SanToS
nuMBer one
Defining Moments: water falling, a butterfly, and a flower
I won the Lottery
chicano poWer!
The Debate, generation after generation
el pocho
God Bless My Children
leaving My idenTiTy aT The door
Como tal palo, tal estilla. like The pole, iS The SplinTer
Amá pinched me in church
I am a Mitotiani
We are of The eagle clan—cuauhTonal— aScending eagle
TeMeScalli—prayer lodge
God Bless AmeriCaCa
aMericaca on our graveyardS
Paternal Love, a sacred bond that cannot be broken
converSaTionS WiTh My Son aBouT coWardS
The fifTh generaTion
paTernal love—a MiliTary TargeT
hoW do We forgive The faTherS? on a good day . .
The Indian Dream
To my six children, six grandchildren and great-granddaughter
you Make Me proud
My Death Song
P. 1
AmeriCaCa – The Sounds of Silenced Survivors

AmeriCaCa – The Sounds of Silenced Survivors

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Published by AuthorHouseBooks
I was an Indian without a tribe, stuck in the Oakland Housing Projects … with only a maternal compass to guide me. “Dios te bendiga, Mijo,” my mother would say placing her hand on my forehead each day, asking God to bless me. I could feel her medicine, her energy, and her hope for me enter my body, fill my soul, and warm the cold. This was Her Blessing Way, praying for my protection in her absence, warning me of all the dangers. There were many dangers for an Indian boy in 1950s Apartheid Oakland, a reflection of Apartheid America.

This is a story of raising children in a country that hated US, a story of how my mother fought to protect her Native son, a story of how she WON! This is an example of a common Native struggle; native mothers protecting their children, during and after “The Indian Wars.” This is about the generational trauma from “The Indian Wars” and the wounded soul of an Indian boy, growing up to be a Warrior … in response to that war against our humanity.
I was an Indian without a tribe, stuck in the Oakland Housing Projects … with only a maternal compass to guide me. “Dios te bendiga, Mijo,” my mother would say placing her hand on my forehead each day, asking God to bless me. I could feel her medicine, her energy, and her hope for me enter my body, fill my soul, and warm the cold. This was Her Blessing Way, praying for my protection in her absence, warning me of all the dangers. There were many dangers for an Indian boy in 1950s Apartheid Oakland, a reflection of Apartheid America.

This is a story of raising children in a country that hated US, a story of how my mother fought to protect her Native son, a story of how she WON! This is an example of a common Native struggle; native mothers protecting their children, during and after “The Indian Wars.” This is about the generational trauma from “The Indian Wars” and the wounded soul of an Indian boy, growing up to be a Warrior … in response to that war against our humanity.

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Published by: AuthorHouseBooks on Apr 23, 2013
Copyright:Traditional Copyright: All rights reservedISBN:9781481737203
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05/14/2014

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9781481737203

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