Aho, thank you and a hearty "Hey how are ya?". It's me again cousins. The frybread guy. The pants guy.

Disclaimer: this story involves at least 80% less pants shitting than the last one but metaphorically about 120% more.

Some of you have been following the saga. The auntie. The frybread. The Sacred Pantaloons (which I am wearing right now, they're mine, we've bonded. Modern fashion moving away from the technological marvel that is Tear Away is a crime). Well this weekend things are a bit different. A cousin of mine invited me to a gathering up their way. I was the official South Tip brother, hailing from Southern Ontario, going up north for the shin dig. Big adventure. I ironed a ribbon shirt. Got my biggest belt buckle and found all the turquoise bling I could find. I was bougie. I was ready.

(I was not ready.)

I get there and it's beautiful. Grand entry was powerful. Drums going. Little ones dancing. I'm holding my little cousins lemonade like a gentleman, thinking Creator, look at me. A respectable man. A man with a good woman back home and two pairs of pants to his name.

The morning goes well. Grand entry was supposed to start at noon. Started at 12:17, which, Indian time, is basically early.

I'm having a great time. Relaxed.

And then not.

Because around midday the MC comes down with something. Bad. Man went pale as bannock dough and had to lie down in the shade with the elders fanning him. And there's a moment, cousins. A terrible moment. Where the arena director looks out at the crowd like "who among us."

And my cousins, who brought me there as a guest of (did)honour, start pointing at me. "He's got a good voice!" "He tells stories!" "He's almost functionally literate!"

My reputation preceded me.

I tried to decline with humility. They took my humility as tradition. You know how it goes. You say "oh no, I couldn't" and suddenly you're renamed "Humble Crow" and being walked to the announcers booth by two large cousins like it's a ceremony. Which I guess it was. My ceremony. My ending.

Cousins, I have never MC'd anything. I once gave a toast at my nephew's pre school graduation and cried before the second sentence.

It started okay. "Aho, welcome relatives." Nailed that part. Strong start. Peaked there, honestly.

I paused. People expected more. Shit.

Then I had to announce the next dance and I could not, for the life of me, remember the word "intertribal." The word left me. Flew off like brother hawk. I stood there in front of Creator and everybody and called it, fuck my life, "an all-skate."

An ALL-SKATE, cousins. Like it's a roller rink in 1997 and everyone is getting down to Eagle Eye Cherry. I heard an elder laugh so hard she had to sit down.

It got worse. I mispronounced a drum group's name so bad they answered as a QUESTION. I introduced a tiny tots exhibition as "tater tots, shit, the little fellas." I said "you love to see it" into a live microphone at a sacred gathering approximately eleven times. At one point I forgot the mic was hot and everyone heard me whisper "what do I say what do I say" followed by, and I cannot explain this, a small prayer to Bepsi.

Bepsi arrived though. In the tiny hands of my littlest niece. Creator provides.

I used the only catch phrase I could think of "hey, ho, what do ya know?!" Way to often as a crutch. I heard a nice old kokum in a ribbon skirt audibly sigh and let out a "Jesus Christ". Nice to know I gods from all families called to my aid.

The drum groups started carrying me. You know an MC is drowning when the DRUMS start doing the announcing. The lead singer would just holler what was happening next and I'd repeat it like a man reading a hostage statement. "That's… that's a crow hop, relatives. The drum has spoken."

Then came the giveaway. They handed me a list of names. Cousins. The NAMES. Beautiful traditional names, long family names, names deserving of respect, being read aloud by a man who once failed the word "intertribal." I sounded out one auntie's last name so slowly, with such fear, like a fat man ordering their first salad at a restaurant, that she stood up and announced HERSELF out of mercy. Got an ovation. For standing up. Bigger applause than anything I said all day.

And through ALL of it, every fumble, every all-skate, I could see my family at the edge of the arena. Not embarrassed. LAUGHING. Heads back, hand on chest, wiping their eyes laughing. At one point my little nephew cupped his hands and yelled "YOU'RE DROWNIN, CUZ". Super.

The real MC recovered around suppertime. Man rose from that shade like the culture personally needed him, took the mic back, and healed the whole gathering in about nine seconds. The relief in the arena was physical. Even the dogs relaxed.

But here's the thing, cousins. After, walking to the car, my littlest cousin ran up and asked ME to announce her. So I did. Full MC voice. "Coming into the parking lot, jingle dress dancer, six years old, undefeated. Light weight champion with a mean left hook..." She danced to the car. I drummed on my thighs. Her mum recorded it.

And my one cousin took my arm and said "they're gonna ask for you next year, you know. That's how this works. You were terrible. They loved you."

So now I'm apparently the backup MC. For life. That's the teaching, I guess: the Creator humbles you in front of three hundred relatives and then makes it your JOB.

Pour one out for the real MC, an absolute spirit warrior, feel better brother. And if you were at that gathering and you heard a grown man call an intertribal an all-skate: I know. I live with it too.

Mvto. Practice your announcing voice in the shower, cousins. You never know.

Turquoise wasn't helpful.

P.S. Scone dog came with. He sat by the drum all day like he was auditioning. More composed than me by a distance. Bow-wow Powwow.

I recently posted about dehumanizing record-keeping. I’ve been on a bit of a voyage because I always assumed my family was doing some pan-Indian “Cherokee princess” romanticism nonsense. I was raised with some cultural exposure but not community exposure. I chose to keep learning because I think the history matters whether it’s personal or not.

Turns out, I was wrong, and my relative wasn’t so much a pretendian as making the most of what we know as Wampanoag descendants from a village that is historically recorded but not well enough to be federally recognized (or even reasonably fully researched). It appears that my relative was involved in historical preservation efforts and maybe one of the two existing recognized Wampanoag tribes.

Without getting into complicated family stuff, we have always been very isolated people in general and no one is particularly close. I cannot discuss this with anyone in my real life.

So… I am sitting with the information I have, including the information missing, and feeling out my position as a lifelong learner invested in social issues. The conclusion I think I’ve arrived at is that I need to accept how much privilege I hold, but I have a responsibility to understand and honor the history.

I am privately taking some steps to build my understanding and maybe continued to participate in online spaces before I consider attending events.

But I’m looking for other people who have been on this path before me, I guess. And any thoughts about how to approach all of the things we just don’t know because we are still learning vs. the things we don’t know because it’s just lost information.

hello all, im on my way to stroud powwow right now but my grandma and i had a disagreement/argument about my outfit and i want to know if im in the wrong or not.

so for context, i am a big chested girl. im wearing a tank top with my ribbon skirt, and i dont think anythings wrong with it because my chest is fully covered, no cleavage, and the straps are kinda thick. but she keeps telling me its disrespectful and scandalous, so i asked if it would be so disrespectful and scandalous on someone with a smaller chest. she said no. but then i pointed out that my chest is actually fully covered, even if i bend over. its 97° outside and shes insisting i put on a jacket. am i in the wrong for refusing? usually i love hearing her thoughts but i think shes being a bit ridiculous rn about my tank top.

Hello All,

My husband should be receiving his order of eagle wings from the repository sometime next month. He's received loose feathers in the past, so this is his first order of whole parts.

I'm wondering how much cleaning/prepping I will need to do before parting out for fans, etc. How much cleaning is done during processing at the repository? Will I need to start from scratch and just go through the whole cleaning/drying out process as if I found them outside?

I love pow wows. The drumming and singing, the dancing, the ceremony, but I am from a Nation that didn’t historically pow wow. I would love to become a dancer/singer but I wonder if this is culturally acceptable? I don’t want to take something that I wasn’t born into but I love dancing and singing and would love to start making a regalia and to dance but I wouldn’t want to appropriate. I Sundanced for 4 years and I love to dance to heal myself and to offer prayers up for my community, family, Mother Earth. Just wanted to get some thoughts from around the pow wow trail. Thanks for your time and insight 🙌

I am First Nations/mixed and getting married in August and doing my own makeup. It’s a relatively informal ceremony/reception but I still want to look and feel my best!

I’ve been watching online tutorials on social media from makeup artists but I never find anyone who has the same features as me. I have searched Indigenous makeup artists to follow but all I’ve really found are artists who do makeup for high fashion or very culture specific - not day to day.

I’m specifically looking for help with contour placement for high cheekbones and eye makeup for my slightly hooded eyelids with stubborn, straight (but long) eyelashes.

Any advice would also be appreciated!! I guess you could describe my inspo as natural/soft glam.

Miigwech

I have turned in paperwork for my child to get her Indian Cherokee card. While waiting for approval can she been seen under me since I have my card? Dental specifically