Crossroads

Thank you, as always to Rochelle for providing us with Friday Fictioneers.

Crossroads

My grandfather would have laughed at Adirondack chairs on his reservation, but he would have sat alongside me gazing at constellations wishing for better for his people. Our people.

It’s because of him I attended college, improved my life, returned to teach, fell in love, got married, and now sit, gazing at meteorite showers while my once love sleeps off whiskey.

I see my grandfather in my son as he gazes upward, my daily hope my son embodies his grandfather.

“Are there people out there?”

“Maybe,” I answer.

“Nice people?”

I don’t say: our history hasn’t been good.

 

Sascha Darlington

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12 replies »

    • Thanks, Dale. Unfortunately the stereotype is real. Alcoholism on reservations is an extreme problem, very sad, and not a lot of help is out there. Native Americans do not have the tolerance that other races have adapted over centuries. And particularly in the current administration there are not a lot of resources.
      Regarding this story, I do believe her son will be a seeker of knowledge.

      • It really is, I know. I have Inuit friends and the problem is prevalent.
        As the writer of his story, I am sure you will make sure he will be 😉

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