Through a series of social media stories, I give a small glimpse of what life is like for my dad. Someone who grew up looking Indigenous in Alberta. The problem is my dad has a plethora of stories like these only worse throughout his life. Whether it was getting beat up in school for being the only Indigenous kid, being pulled over by the police officers for suspicious activity, or simply not getting the respect and love he deserves.
I live a completely different life than my dad because of the colour of my skin and I realize my privilege especially when he shares these stories of blatant racism. I wanted to share them with the world to remind us of all of what a normal day can look like for someone who might look a little different.
A bit about him
My father is half Irish and half Cree. He grew up with his brothers and sister and his mother for a short while before being scooped up and placed into a white family as a foster child. Separated from his culture, his family, hand is siblings, my dad was a product of the Sixties Scoop. My dad grew up in a fairly European community that did not have too many children that looked like him. He was bullied and became a quiet person. When I was growing up, I thought my dad was just like me. He looked like me and we have a similar personality. He was someone I looked up to. But as I got older, he started to share the stories that shocked me. Why would anyone treat my dad as less than?
Shame
I feel like my dad used to hide who he was. He would not openly tell anyone he was Indigenous, and he liked to keep his hair cut short. He would joke that some people at work thought he looked Spanish or something else. People would make jokes about his culture right in front of him, completely unaware. Growing up away from his own people he just learned to ignore who he was.
As my dad got older though something shifted. He grew his hair out long; he wears shirts that clearly show that he is proud of his heritage. He wears hats with dream catchers, and he is not afraid of what people think. I have never been prouder.
I may not look like my dad, but I understand the shame. When I was a kid, I hated telling people I was part Cree. I thought that they would look at me differently or tease me. I hated when my mother put my hair in braids and called me her little Indian. I was ashamed. But seeing my dad embrace himself has been huge. I will never not be proud of my heritage again.
Stories
I tell 3 short stories on my Facebook, Instagram, and Twitter pages if you would like to explore some small first-hand injustices my dad has faced in everyday life.
EXSM 3989 - Digital Storytelling Class Blog 