Until we are reunited
By Mike Wheeler, Contributing Columnist
When I first got introduced to my cousins Joe and Isaac, I
thought they were twins. Even though
Isaac was the older brother by barely a few months, Joe and Isaac went to high
school together and even graduated at the same.
They have another brother by the name of Travis who is currently serving
in the military overseas. Joe told me
once if you truly want something in life, you have to work your ass off for it. After he told me that, he pulled out a stack
of money and said, “This is what hard work as a firefighter will get you.”
As soon as he did that I thought to myself, Damn! Where do I
sign up? Joe inspired me to want to be a “fire outer” as he would call it. To
this day, I want to put my life on the line and fight wildfires. Isaac, on the
other hand was an artist. His drawings were some of the best I have ever seen.
He had some major artistic talent, which he eventually used to do tattoos.
People would come from out of town just to get some ink done by him. This may
sound crazy, but he is so skilled that he gave himself a tattoo, and it doesn’t
even look bad. His tattoos actually looked like they were done by another
tattooist, but the truth is he did them all by his lonely.
I remember drinking with Joe, Isaac, and a few friends back
on the rez. We were watching Gina Carrano go against Cris Cyborg in some Mixed
Martial Arts. Gina was undefeated at the time. Everybody was going for Gina,
hoping she would land that one good punch to knock her out. But Gina didn’t
land that punch, instead she was the one on the receiving end of the
punches. Seeing her get beat down got
everybody rowdy, to the point where they all wanted to go out back and let off
some anger. I was the youngest of the
whole group. Joe came out of nowhere and
tackled me. He said, “Come on cousin
let’s see what you got.” We rolled
around the yard for about five minutes, trying to get a submission on each
other, until somebody broke us up thinking the Tribals (Tribal Police) were
coming, which happened to be a false alarm.
Joe wasn’t going to let me off that easily. He told me ”I ain’t done with you yet, let’s
go again.” Tired as I was, I knew he
wasn’t going to take no for an answer, so I used what little energy I had left
to try and sweep him. I got him to the ground, but the problem was keeping him
there, he did these little kicks to the back of my thighs with his heels. Those
kicks started to take a toll on me. I started to lose my position, as soon as
there was a little bit of space between Joe and I, he went for a triangle
choke. I think my pride wouldn’t let me
tapout, but after awhile I had to give in; there was no way of getting out of
it.
Joe helped me up after we were done and said, “You’ve got
heart, couz,” Isaac was right there waiting for his chance to put me to the
test. He told me he was going to give me some time to rest and regain my
strength. As soon as I did, he rushed me with a takedown and swept me from my
feet. I got the wind knocked out of me from the impact of the ground. Isaac felt bad after that happened, so he
didn’t want to continue. Their mom
overheard all the commotion of me getting slammed to the ground, so she ran
outside as fast she could to investigate what happened, and was upset with the
whole situation. She started to get in
Isaac’s face, saying, ”how can you do that to him, that’s supposed to be like a
little brother to you.” She considered me a little brother to Joe and Isaac,
mainly because I was living with them at the time.
One summer afternoon my grandparents and I went to the
casino for something to eat. After we were done, we went to a nearby gas
station to fill up and hit the road. When my grandma got this unexpected phone
call, I could tell from the look on her face, something terrible happened. She
had tears in her eyes, which made me start to worry. I don’t think anyone was
prepared for the horrific news that was to come. She got off the phone and told my grandpa and
I that Joe and Isaac had just passed away in a car wreck. I didn’t want to
believe what I was hearing. I kept telling myself “no it can’t be. Why did they
have to be taken away from us.” I couldn’t help but cry, I felt like I could
have drowned myself in my own tears. I kept thinking about their mom and how
she was feeling. Nobody was able to get a hold of her for a while, so I wasn’t
even sure if she knew yet.
The funeral was the hardest part to deal with. To be honest,
I think that’s when it hit me. Seeing them get placed into the ground, knowing
it would be the last time I will see them, at least until I see them in the
afterlife. Joe and Isaac will forever be remembered and never forgotten. Your
family loves you two, and you’re always in our prayers.
Lost without a surface to trace
By Tosha Jones, Contributing Columnist
Someone once told me that the bond of love is so strong
between a father and his children that the bond can never break. Well, I think
that person lied. There are two reasons why people leave: One, they fall out of
love with you, and two, they’re just looking for a way out.
Why did he leave? Where did he
go? Does he not love me? Am I worth his time?” Some nights I stay up thinking
and wondering, does he love me or not? What’d I do wrong? What can I do to make
him come back?
Do you ever find yourself laying awake thinking everything
is your fault?
When I was just a baby, my father abandoned me and my
sisters and brothers, and you could say I never got over it. My father has been
in and out of my life; one minute he’s there, the next he doesn’t care.
April 30, 2011; I remember it like it was yesterday. It was
a Saturday morning at 8:30. I hear yelling back in forth, my mom saying, “Randy
if you leave this time you are never welcomed back in this house.”
I peek out my doorway. I’ve never seen my dad’s face so red;
it’s heated like one of those chile peppers people put into their salads. My
dad looks back at his suitcase, stuffing his clothes in there like stuffing
dressing into a Thanksgiving turkey. My dad says, “Alicia, the only reason I’m
leaving is for the sake of these kids, they are tired of you arguing with me.”
“It takes two people to argue, Randy,” my mom says.
My dad pauses and says, “You know what Alicia, I’m tired of
you treating me like one of the kids.”
I get up and walk out into the living room.
“Mom, dad what’s going on? Dad were you going?” My dad looks
up at me as if he is going to tell me his brother died, his mouth opens wide
like a fly flew in and flew out and he didn’t even notice.
By the time he can speak I say, “ Dad, don’t you want to be
here? Don’t you love us anymore?”
My dad picks up his last suitcase, loads it in the car,
closes the car door, and drives. I run out crying so hard I can’t see what’s
happing. He drives away faster.
That’s the last time I saw him. Now I know things don’t last
forever.
Mike Wheeler and Tosha Jones are students at the Native
American Family and Youth Center’s Early College Academy. The Academy’s
Language Arts class is partnering with Street Roots. After reading Sherman
Alexie’s “Absolutely True Diary of a Part Time Indian,” the students wrote
personal narratives that reflected on loss and change in their lives. This is the second in a series of articles by NAYA students. The first can be read here.
This article appears in 2013-01-04.