Tribal Journey (2 page)

Anyway, those are things I learned in the tribal culture classes my mother had me take when I was little. I'd been too busy for such things lately.

My cell phone vibrated in my pocket. I'd asked Dad for a smart phone like most of my friends had. But no luck. He said I could have one of those when I could pay for it myself.

So I flipped the lame phone open to find a text from my friend Amy Chang. “Any l planning a get 2gether during spring break?” she asked.

I texted back, “That's what Ron & I r trying to figure out. I'll let u know.”

When I became a teenager, my non-Native friends complained that Indians always lived in the past. Without much thought, I decided I agreed with them.

Of course I wanted to fit in with the other kids at school I hang out with. They're a mixture of races: whites, Asians, Latinos, blacks—you name it. Most of them had figured out how to ignore their family's past and live in the now. Track the trends. Merge with the moment.

So I decided to do likewise and go with the flow. Nothing that my Duwamish mother, grandparents, or uncles tried to teach me from Native culture really applied to life today. They were so behind the times. It was easy to turn my back on all that and go with the flow.

Another text came in. This time it was from Ben, my Latino friend. “My spring break is messed up. Got 2 go 2 Spokane 2 visit relatives.”

“That sucks,” I texted back. “Hope u make it thru the week—see u when u get back.” I closed my phone and stuffed it back in my pocket.

What was I talking about before? Oh yeah. Going with the flow. Seattle was a great place to go with the flow. The home of Mariners baseball, Seahawks football, Starbucks coffee, and Microsoft. Sure, it was cloudy or rainy three hundred days of the year. So what. That's one of the special things about the Northwest. The weather makes everything so green.

I'd been swimming since I was little. I loved the water. I had dreams of being like Michael Phelps and winning twenty-two Olympic medals. Making the high school swim team was a step in that direction.

My cell phone vibrated again. I dug it out of my pocket one more time and flipped it
open. Another text from Ron. “My mom sez chores 2moro will work fine.”

I texted him back, “Hope my mom sez the same.”

The bus let me out at the corner of my street. I walked the short two blocks to my house. The neighborhood was made up of little two- story brick houses that had seen better days. My house really had problems—a leaky roof, rotting front steps, and cracks in the walls.

Dad never had the time or money to fix any of this stuff. His job as a maintenance worker at the Boeing jet factory must not have paid very much. It did pay enough to keep him stocked in beer, however.

I was lucky to have my own room upstairs. It was small but all mine. It was the best place to be when Dad went on one of his rampages.

My younger brother Zak and his twin sister Shauna shared a room down the hall. Since birth they've never liked to be apart. Shauna can't sleep if Zak isn't nearby. So half of the room was filled with boy stuff, and the other half was all pink and girly.

As I approached the house, I was surprised to see my mom's car parked in the driveway.

“What are you doing home?” I asked Mom as I walked through the front door.

“It's Good Friday. Sunday is Easter. So they let some of us get off work early to have some quality family time.”

That was really the last thing I was interested in.

“Can I go over to Ron's tomorrow? I told him I'd help him with a few chores.”

“You? Helping with chores? Wow, that's a new one.” She was smiling when she said it, so I knew she wasn't totally serious.

“We'll see. We might do something as a family. I'll talk to your father when he gets home.”

I think I moaned out loud. I knew that “we'll see” was parent code for “probably not.”

“Absolutely not,” my father said when he got home from work. “This weekend is for staying at home and being with family.”

I didn't like the sound of that one bit.

“The last time we had a family weekend,” I said, “you watched sports on TV while Mom refinished furniture. Shauna and Zak chased each other around the yard. I played video games in my room. What kind of quality family time is that?”

I ran up to my room before anyone could punish me for talking back. After slamming the door, I grabbed my binoculars from the dresser and focused out the window.

Since our house was on the highest hill in West Seattle, I could see pretty far in any direction. Looking west through the binoculars I could see the southern tip of Bainbridge
Island across the waters of Puget Sound. Looking east I could see freight ships carrying their loads up and down the Duwamish River. Southeast of us was the Sea-Tac Airport, with its steady stream of jets landing and taking off. Downtown Seattle, where the Space Needle is located, was just visible to the northeast.

Sometimes, when no one was around, I would sneak out of my window and onto the roof. You could see really far from there—so far that you could forget all your problems for a while.

You could forget that your father drank too much and beat Mom and us kids when he did. You could forget that your mother spent hours at the Duwamish Tribal Culture Center to escape from your father. You could forget that for some odd reason the family never had any money to do anything or fix anything or buy anything new. That was a lot to forget.

Ron texted me again. “What did they say?”

“They said no,” was all I replied and closed the phone. What was I to do now? I
could grit my teeth and try to get through another day. As usual.

Instead, I decided to send a text blast to all my friends to let them know what was going on. Maybe someone would have an idea for how I could get out of the Saturday family time. So I started thumb-typing.

“Guys, I need your help. How can I get out of spending the entire weekend with my lame family? Got ideas?” I pushed the send button and hoped.

Within minutes reply messages came back from Ron, Amy, Ben, and Randy. Ashley must not have had her phone handy.

“U can always sneak out in the middle of the nite,” Ben suggested.

“Tell ur parents my auntie died and u hav 2 come 2 comfort me,” Amy replied. Her message ended with a smiley face. I think she wants to be more than friends. I'm not ready.

“Put sleeping pills in their breakfast so they fall asleep. They won't know u left until it's 2 late,” Ron offered.

“Tell em ur sick & need 2 lie down,” Randy's text began. “Go 2 ur room & close the door. Fix ur bed 2 look like u r asleep under the covers. Then sneak out. I saw this in a movie.”

Wow. These all sounded like terrible ideas. I'm not a very good liar.

Then Ashley's text came in. “Honesty is the best policy,” her message said. “Ask for a family meeting. Tell your parents how you feel and why. Even if you don't get what you want, it will bring the family closer. Talking it out is always a good thing.”

That seemed like the worst idea yet. Ashley didn't really fit in with the rest of the crowd. And her message was so proper. Everything was spelled out completely and correctly with no text shortcuts. Well, she did like to read a lot. And she always said she was going to be a writer when she grew up. I had to remember not to include her in future text blasts.

“Jason!” My mother's voice echoed up the stairs. “Time to come down for dinner.”

As I sat down at the table, my cell phone vibrated. I took it out of my pocket to see who was texting me. My father immediately grabbed the phone from my hand and put it next to his plate.

“New rule,” he said. “No texting at the dinner table.”

“But I—” That's all I could say before Dad interrupted.

“You're on that thing too much. Breakfast, lunch, and dinner are times for us to focus on being right here. At work they said lots of parents are doing this now.”

I remained silent and began eating. The room was quiet except for the sound of forks scraping on plates.

Later, I asked about the family's plans for this Saturday.

“You'll find out tomorrow,” my dad barked and took a sip of his beer. He jerked in the middle of the sip. I could tell that Mom had kicked him under the table.

“Your father and I haven't had any time to talk about it, but we will tonight,” Mom said softly.

“Why don't we all get a chance to say what we want to do?” I asked. I don't even know where that came from. It just jumped out of my mouth.

“You kids aren't smart enough to—” Dad began. He jerked again. “Ow,” he said, and reached down to rub his leg.

“Watch yourself, woman,” he snarled at Mom.

“Actually, Jason, since you're sixteen, I do think you're old enough to have a vote,” Mom said. “What would you like to do?”

“I was thinking that Sunday might be a better day for family time. It
is
Easter and all. I think there's a spring street fair at the Junction. We could all go and check it out.”

I held my breath. How would they react?

“You mean after church, right, Jason?” Mom asked.

“Of course.” Actually I'd forgotten about church. Christmas, Easter, and All Saints
Day were the only times we went. That was Dad's rule.

“That's not a bad idea,” Mom said. “What do you think, Jack?”

“You and I will talk about this later,” Dad said through clenched teeth. “Right now, let's finish eating.”

That was the end of the conversation. Wow. We actually almost had a family meeting like Ashley had suggested.

Dad usually didn't like talking about things. He just barked commands at us. He came from a loud German-American family. Family reunions with them were kind of weird. All they did was drink beer and complain.

A lot of people think all Indians are alcoholics. Not in my family.

When dinner was over I grabbed my phone off the table and headed up to my room. It was still light outside, thanks to daylight saving time. What a cool invention. Everyone agrees to set their clocks ahead an hour this time of year. Then, magically, there's an extra hour of
sunlight at the end of the day for the spring and summer.

I picked up my binoculars and ear buds. Opening my bedroom window, I climbed out onto the roof. I had to take each step carefully on the slanted cedar tiles.

I made my way over to the west side of the house. It had been a rare sunny day in the Pacific Northwest. The sun reflected brightly off the water in the distance. It shimmered like gold in the light.

I could tell from the sun's position low in the sky that it would be setting in about an hour. I liked to watch it go down. I put the ear buds in and started the playlist on my phone. I texted Ron.

“There's a chance I could make it 2moro. Parents r talking about doing the family thing on Sunday.”

He replied without delay.

“Great. Keep me posted.”

I leaned back, listened to the music, and relaxed. I knew there'd be some fireworks later inside the house when my parents talked
about my Sunday family idea. But I wasn't going to worry about that now. I shut off my mind and focused on the music. In a few minutes I nodded off to sleep.

When I woke up, the sun was just sliding down beyond Bainbridge Island. I imagined it settling into the water like someone taking a bath. The air was becoming cooler. I decided to go back inside.

As I climbed in and closed the window I heard loud voices from downstairs. The fireworks had already started. I couldn't make out what words they were saying, or rather yelling, at each other. I could tell they were angry words. Dad must really be drunk.

Then he screamed something that I could understand.

“You whacked-out squaw! I should've never got mixed up with you!”

Then came a loud crash, like a glass being thrown against the wall. That was followed by the sound of large furniture being overturned. Mom let loose a fearful yell. That was it.

I ran out of the room and down the hall to check on Zak and Shauna. They were in their room with the door closed. I opened it and looked in on them. They were watching their
Finding Nemo
DVD for the hundredth time.

“We heard yelling,” Zak said. “What's going on?”

“I'm going to find out. Stay here and keep watching your video.” I closed the door and took the stairs three at a time.

When I got to the kitchen, I found Mom on the floor moaning. My father was standing over her. A shattered glass lay beside her. The kitchen table was on its side.

“You sorry excuse for a father!” I screamed as I ran full force at Dad. I hit him in the stomach with my head and knocked him against the cabinet. He hit it with a thwack. Then he bounced off the cabinet and landed on the floor across the room from Mom. He must've passed out from too much alcohol, because he didn't move.

I stood and looked down at this man who had tortured us for years.