Thanksgiving's story is another time to recall my family history to my grandchildren….

Here's the thing…if your ancestors weren't registered with a Nation (tribes) through the years and
the percentage of Native blood calculated through each generation, it is hard to claim heritage
with just hearsay information. My grandmother meticulously entered every bit of her husband's
and his family's changing information to the US Bureau of Indian Affairs over the years..her legacy to generations.

My mother talked a bit of her Native blood with me…< half..her father* was born on a Reservation. I
know she was proud of her father…but she lived in the Caucasian World growing up.

I can remember clearly the day she showed me a paper with her Sioux name, only once and never again.

Looking back there were aspects of her adult behavior that must have been influenced by her father's upbringing.
She hunted and trapped with him all throughout her younger years..
But a little more obvious was her actual childhood struggle to not be identified as a minority in the 1920's.

It never really dawned on me what the actual dynamic was with my mother's family until I
took a College course in Anthropology.
We filled out a little family tree for an assignment with the ethnic backgrounds if we knew them.

The professor called me up to her desk to answer a question about mine. Was I sure it was a Caucasian lady
who married a Native man in the 1890's and not the other way around? Yes, I am sure. This is, also, when
I began to learn everything I could about my Native heritage.

I found entries online where my grandmother would sometimes list her husband as Native (Indian) and
sometimes as White. I'll never know why this was done but I am thinking it was probably a benign
procedure.
Underlining all…there is always this pride of heritage; I am passing it on.

When we celebrate our Thanksgiving we always recount for the children and grandchildren the story
of the first Americans helping out the new Americans.

I always thank my Native ancestors for my Thanks~living.

Tikki (Robi, proud daughter of the Lakota)
*my grandfather was Sioux with a pinch of French and ridiculously handsome.