School was cancelled again today. Not for me, but for Luke… lucky, lucky Luke always benifiting from the weather’s failures. Not me. Oh No! Because Luke happened to be home I couldn’t quietly sleep in, skip class, be ashamed and lie saying I went… nope, I actually had to go. It is really sad that the only time I make it to an early 8:30am class is when my poor boyfriend gets a snow day and offers to drive me.
So I went to that silly Society and the Self class I mistakenly signed up for in a delusional “I can make this work! Motivation! Rah Rah Rah” last-semester-of-my-degree lapse in judgement. It was fine, sitting there listening to the discussion of all those Social Sciences and IDS keeners, nursing a cappuccino (mistakenly ordered, MOCHAccino dammit!) when suddenly the talk turned to racism and even more specifically, native-focused racism. My stomach leaped up into my throat and my hands sweated bullets. I glanced around nervously, like any second someone would pounce on me pointing: “I found one! Here! What does she think?”
The sad thing is that I wouldn’t even know what to say. I have been living my whole life for one half of me. The caucasian, upper middle-class, martime-canadian side of me. I spent my youth getting mocked without even realizing it… why would they call me an Indian-Giver and expect me to reconsider generosity? Why do they laugh and say, “Well of course you give the best Indian Burns!”? Why would my last name be a constant source of humilation for the unenlightened parents of my high school boyfriend? I have spent my entire life fitting in, but being called out randomly as being different.
And yet, I hear the racist term “Wagon-Burner” and I become enraged. There is an entire half of me that I barely know or understand. An entire half of who I am that I have no idea how to get in touch with or develop.
All I have is the anger.