December 17, 2010

Love of Children

Written by: Amy Maitland, CITC Social Worker, Educational Services

It was getting close to ten in the evening on a Sunday night. Suddenly, my cell phone rang and I saw it was my mother’s number. My initial thoughts were that she must be calling me for bad news and they were spot on. “I don’t want you to panic but the ambulance is on its way to pick up grandma. She has developed a high fever and her pneumonia doesn’t seem to be getter better.” As she was finishing her sentence, the sirens and flashing lights approached the driveway. I quickly hung up the phone, gathered my thoughts and slipped on my boots and raced to their home to see if I could do to help. When my grandmother is stricken by flu, sickness or disease it rocks our family’s foundation and the jolt of panic and fear quickly spreads to family members in far distances.

The paramedics in their bright yellow garb dashed in and in a flash, my grandmother was on her way to the hospital. All that was left of her presence was the slightly wrinkled bed sheets still warm where she had laid only just moments ago. For the remainder of the evening, anxious family members and the technical equipment closely monitored my grandmother. I assisted her with her blankets and aided her in sipping her apple juice while we waited for a doctor to pop their head in through the curtain….and then I realized something special. All the care and nurturing this wonderful woman had shown her children, grandchildren and great-grandchildren in their time of need is now being recycled into this very moment.

My grandmother is the most amazing woman. She cared and loved all her children so deeply as a mother. Now, as mother and daughters, sons and grandsons, we stood together by her bedside showing our honor and gratitude to the woman whose love shaped and developed us into the people and nurturing caregivers we are today.

Grandma Ann is currently a patient in Alaska Native Medical Center’s ICU and I was able to experience how a grandmother’s value of loving of her children can transcend and impact generations.

December 16, 2010

Love of Children

Written by: Maggie Okomailuk, CITC Social Worker, Employment & Training Services Department

As I read the Anchorage Daily News this morning there was a small article written by Bill Hess of my cousin Elder Warren Matumeak’s passing. North Slope Iñupiat say goodbye to elder Warren Matumeak; “I had come to Barrow for the funeral of Warren Matumeak, a good man. He was buried yesterday following a funeral that, despite the bitter pain of loss, was truly beautiful and sweet. How could it have been otherwise, given the beautiful and productive life that Warren lived? I set out to walk to the Matumeak home, and soon came upon Max Ahgeak’s umiak frame, where it awaits the spring. Beyond it were two graveyards, a small family one on this side of the middle lagoon and the large community cemetery, where Warren would be buried, on the other.”

I remember as a small child going to the Presbyterian Church with my family where Warren was the choir conductor and they sang Iñupiaq gospel songs that he translated from English. It was also a memorable time when there was a Christmas program as it was done in Iñupiat and Warren did most of the translations from the Bible for the story of the birth of Jesus.

Warren was the leader for the Barrow Native dance group. Warren’s father Paul Matumeak owned the movie theatre in Barrow; where in 1957 the Messenger Feast Dance (Kiviq) was last performed by my 93 year old grandfather Harlan Okomailuk. Warren revived the Messenger Feast Dance after 50 years and it is now performed during Kiviq. The Barrow Dance group always performed at the World Eskimo Indian Olympics (WEIO) and Alaska Federation of Natives (AFN) Conferences. The Presbyterian Church Choir always came to the Native Musicale every year and Warren was the leader of the group.

Warren’s love of his family and Iñupiat people, language, culture and history, subsistence way of life, love of Presbyterian Church and his Iñupiaq values has been instrumental in preserving our way of life. I will miss his great sense of humor where he wrote and sang in Iñupiat about the Barrow people. I have seen Warren’s eye sparkle with love and pride when small children performed Iñupiat dancing.

Warren will be greatly missed by his beloved family and huge extended families of Barrow.

December 15, 2010

(Editor’s note: Special thanks to Ms. Ruth Tong for her special submission for today’s story! – Thank you, Ruth!)

Interdependence

Written by: Ruth Okitkon Tong, Intake Specialist, CITC Child & Family Services Department

Here’s a story about interdependence as told to me by my older brothers and sisters, of the life in Koyuk, a small village on the southeast corner of Seward Peninsula.

My parents had seven children and also took another family, the Pedersons, a mother with four children, to our summer fish and berry camp. We traveled by boat and would stay in white canvas tents all summer. My mother and father took me and my next older brother, Kenny, the two youngest in the family, back to Koyuk with them to buy more “grub” from the village store to supplement the foods from the tundra and the Ungalik River. Mrs. Pederson stayed at camp with all the other children. My oldest brother was in his early teens, and so was the oldest Pederson boy, and the youngest Pederson girl was about three years old.

We got to Koyuk and my parents bought the foods, then we tried to head back to camp. The weather had turned stormy, and they would try every morning to return, but the weather stayed bad for two weeks.

Meanwhile, back in the camp, Mrs. Pederson and the nine children had only fish to eat. They ran out of all the condiments, flour, sugar, etc., even salt. They just ate fish every day, day after day, waiting for Mom and Dad to bring a little variety for the diet. I believe this was late June, before the berries were ripe, but there was plentiful fish. They would already have picked “surra,” the young willow leaves, earlier in the summer, and preserved them in the village for consumption during the wintertime.

The story shows the interdependence of two families, three parents watching over all the children in both families, and also for their dependence on the weather, in a remote village setting in the mid-20^th century.

December 14, 2010

Love of Children

Written by: Gail Weinstein, CITC Academic Advocate/Site Manager

Mike did not speak in words. Sometimes he would ‘face talk’ with eyebrows but not much. He came to school every day and we noticed that he responded to Native music. We encouraged him to try the after school program at the Heritage Center and finally he began attending. After some time he was willing and able to join our school based culture club and dance group.

The next year our CITC Native Culture and Assests group prepared to present and perform at a large international conference in Texas. We would deliver a learning session and dancing became a part it. Mike, still a student of few words, was a member of the group, invited to travel.

The conference was huge. The students were amazed by the giant bugs of Texas, the clean cars, and one student so moved, gave away our sole drum to a total stranger who admired it. Finally, on the last day it was our turn for the presentation. Plastic juice bottle serving as drum the students were awe inspiring in their roles. The interactive session created a community of smaller working groups and our audience began asking questions. As the room silenced Mike, tall and proud began to speak! Mike talked of his Native cultural values, he spoke of his family and traditional Native practices, he spoke of subsistence, he spoke of his school, his community and his people. We were amazed to hear his clear voice and filled with joy to witness the expression of love from Mike toward his culture in his own words. He spoke and talked and shared.

It was a new beginning for Mike and the rest of his life.

This was my experience of the power of our youth and what we as educators hold in making connections and directing children by never giving up – no matter what.

One can influence life itself though that determination of a loving spirit.

December 13, 2010

Love of Children

Written by: Adam Knight, CITC Language Arts Teacher, West High School

The mug steamed between my fists. Coffeecoffeecoffee. I lingered over Sunday morning, watching to see who would arrive first - nuthatches to the sunflower seed, a woodpecker to the suet perhaps, or waxwings to the mountain ash. I waited with my phone on the railing beside me, camera running and thought I should use it instead to call my parents across the country while I waited for the sun to make its hesitant appearance for a few hours. Clouds hung overhead. It had warmed up almost enough to snow. I might not see the sun at all, and the front might keep any birds at roost for the day. A flock of waxwings wheeled high overhead trilling their “sreeeeeee sreeeeeee sreeeeeeee,” and the yard went quiet again.

The phone let out a “pop” with a Facebook notice. I pulled open the site to find a note labeled with a name I had to think about just a second too long before, with equal parts honor and trepidation, I placed it with the face of a student from last year. In recent years, on each first day of school I announce to my students that I will not accept their friend requests. I have had a handful make the gesture over the years since the advent of Facebook, but besides being ASD policy, propriety dictates that they go ignored. I looked for a friend request. There was none attached. I went inside to the computer and opened this message. I have changed or removed any names and geographic reference out of respect for the individual.

“Hi Mr. Knight, hopefully this is the right person I am sending this too, but I just wanted to say, Thank you for being my teacher. I really appreciate it. I know I wasn't really able to say a real good bye, on the last day of school. It's been really rough lately, my mom has passed away, my father is in jail, and my brother has left. My father has gone out of jail now tho, and says he will change. I hardly believe it.. I'm currently living at my house with a friend who's been taking care of me. But I've dropped out of High School, cause of my failing grades this year. And now is attending to some downtown class with a guy named Michael. It's different trying to pass is hard, never wanting to go to school. But I wanted to tell you thank you for everything, I know that you being a teacher for our class was hard, coming to school and being treated like s***. ( well that's from my view ). We were able to have some fun days in the class though. But I'm glad I was able to be one of your students, I'm very happy to of had a awesome teacher, who I can talk to. Thank you for everything.

Love,

Me

P.S... I'm not gunna correct anything in this message :P”

When finally I worked together words to reply, I told her I was glad she hadn’t corrected anything. She needs to be heard just as she is. This is a story on the value of children as I experienced it on the morning of Sunday, 2 December 2010.

December 10, 2010

Knowledge of Family Tree

Written by: Amy Fredeen, Chief Financial Officer, Cook Inlet Tribal Council, Inc.

I was 35 years old before I heard the full story of how my mother ended up in a children’s home in Valdez. Before this, I had been familiar with the multitude of extended family members that resulted from her life in the children’s home. As I grew up, my once fuzzy family tree became clearer and more expansive as my mother connected me with those who lived with her in Valdez. I heard snippets of her extended family through the stories of her experiences like living through the 1964 earthquake. These connections and stories created for me ties to her history, and therefore ties to her.

This past summer I sat down with my grandmother, one of mother's foster parents, who launched into the story of my mother's loss and her family's loss and how they were intertwined. The ties that existed between them before their losses solidified into a lasting bridge as they worked through their grief, even while they were apart. With my grandmother's words, came a clarity that helped me understand more about my mother than her words could have communicated alone.

My mother had always impressed upon me through her actions and relationships the idea that family was more than a lineal DNA connection, but were rather the result of ties we build with those around us. I hope I can do the same for my children.

December 9, 2010

Knowledge of Family Tree

Written by: Treena Ivie, Executive Assistant, CITC Administration Department

It was mid-spring 2010, sitting on the couch at my in-laws, I was mentally going through the evening’s to-do list. Vaguely paying attention to the activities around me, my husband had called my name a few times, if not more. “Treena…Treena….Treena!” He sat at the computer with an annoyed, but excited look on his face. I asked with no subtle hint of irritation in my voice, “What?!” He wanted to share with me his research on his family history, going back to England 16 generations and how the Ivie last name changed from Ivey. Instantly I was intrigued, not only how he figured that out, but about where I come from.

I wanted to see how far back my family roots went and how wide my limbs reached for something that represents who I am. Ultimately, in that moment he gave me the key to the door of my past.

It has been about 9 months since that time. Many frustrations arose while I researched my family tree. I have figuratively tripped over mounds of information. I even had to redo a couple leads, because the information can be very misleading. It is really easy to get caught in the fantasy of possibilities. After all, of my weeding and pruning I found the following concrete information on my past.

For my dad, McCormick (Grandpa’s name) started 5 generations ago but the connections are at 6 generations. The McCormick connections started in Ireland with the birth of my Great-Grandparents (x5) in 1826. Waselie (Grandma’s name) goes 4 generations back and possibly started in the Kenai Peninsula.

For my mom, Antonson (Grandpa’s name) started at least 4 generations ago and Naumoff (grandma’s name) going further is 5 generations. Antonson came to the USA on June 6^th, 1900 with my Great-Grandpa Gustaf, as a 16 year old runaway from his family in Sweden. Naumoff started in Russia with my Great-Grandpa (x5) Peter Naumoff.

My journey is far from over as I keep climbing around and digging up historical papers that prove my past was once alive. I now understand that my sense of spontaneous adventure comes from my Great-Grandpa Gustof and my stubborn unwillingness to give up comes from my Great-Grandpa Peter Naumoff. When I have enough resources, I hope to one day track my roots that continue in Europe. For now, my story pauses.

December 8, 2010

Knowledge of Family Tree

Written by: Pauline O'Brien, CITC Reading Teacher, Susitna Elementary School

Where are you from? That is a standard question I used to ask, until I met a gal who was Alaska Native, but she responded, “I am from here, where else would I be from?” I was shocked at her response, because I didn’t realize that question was offensive, and she didn’t want to entertain my question or engage in any conversation about coming from somewhere else other than Anchorage.

My roots are from the South end of Kodiak Island. My great grandfather (Thomas) was from an Irish ship and he married my great grandmother (Kathrine); they had one son. My great grandmother died at a very young age of 26, and my great grandfather moved way. My grandpa, Fred Coyle, Sr. was born in 1910, and since his mother passed away and his dad moved away, he was raised by his uncle. Back in those days, it wasn’t uncommon that families placed their children in the care of the child’s aunt or uncle. It was understandable, if you married a non-native, and you needed your children to learn survival, they would live in a home that could provide for that.

My Grandpa, Fred Coyle, Sr., was in an arranged marriage, he married a girl named Jeanne. They had four children: Stella, Fred Jr., Natalie, and Herman. Stella had 6 kids; my dad, Fred, also had 6 kids, Natalie had 2 girls and Herman died before he could start a family. My dad, Fred Coyle Jr., is the last remaining sibling. I have one brother, and my older brother passed away at the young age of 21. I have a lot of cousins out there, but they do not carry the Coyle name. I am proud of my native heritage; unfortunately, I do not speak my language and neither do my siblings. We were told to have a better life by going to school to get educated, so we could get better jobs for our families.

I feel that my knowledge of where I come from and who my family is, is very important to me and my children. I want my children to grow up knowing we have relatives all around us, and you need to know your families names, just in case you met someone and they talk about their families, and you may find that you are related. I am happy to share with you some of my roots; they really do branch out much farther than this. I focused on my dad’s part of the family, and didn’t even touch my mom’s side of the family, that is much too complicated for a short paper. Just a glimpse, she is one of 14 siblings, and she is the oldest. She only has 7 siblings remaining, and plenty of cousins out there; it is hard to keep track at this point. Her family is another story. Until next time, Pauline O’Brien

December 7, 2010

Knowledge of Family Tree

Written by: Chris Meier, Director, Educational Services, Cook Inlet Tribal Council, Inc.

My wife tells my sons stories about her great-grandfather who lived on the Bering Sea coast and was a good shaman known for healing and helping people. My grandmother told me stories about her mother who at the age of sixteen began teaching in a one-room schoolhouse in rural western Michigan. Our family would pass by the old schoolhouse building on our way fishing. My grandmother also told me stories of her uncle who was a principal in a small rural town in northern Michigan way out in the sticks. Today, I am an educator, and I like to think of my boys as good people willing to help others. Those stories have influenced us.

An important part of oral history common to indigenous people are the stories of great deeds and wonderful things done by relatives and ancestors in familiar places. These stories not only teach the family tree and local lore but help children find their place in the world and can inspire people to do great things.

Another important message passed on to indigenous youth is to be careful who they court. In the village, the youth are told that if they become attracted to a person they must first ask their parents and family members about their family relationship to that person to make sure they are not too closely related.

Family trees are important in closely knit societies, and children benefit from hearing stories about their relatives and local places.

December 3, 2010

Roots

Written by: Carolyn Crosby, CITC Reading/Math Teacher, Susitna Elementary School

For the last two years, I have had the pleasure of sharing a classroom with Moses Dirks, a Resource Teacher for English Language Learners. Moses is at Susitna three half-days a week (he has four other schools). I have enjoyed listening to his stories, so I asked if I could interview him to learn about his Roots. The following is a paraphrasing of my chat with Moses.

“I was born on Atka and lived in the mid-Aleutians for most of my life. I was one of the few people born there who was delivered by a midwife. My childhood was very pleasant; there was not much outside contact and this kept us pure with our culture and close to our language.

“When I went to school, I couldn’t speak English. It was a one-room schoolhouse with Kindergarten – Grade Three on one side of the room and Grades 4 – 7 on the other side. We had a language barrier with the BIA teachers. It is ironic that I am now a Resource Teacher as I came from a non-English speaking place. I can feel for the youngsters I work with because I had to learn English too.

“After 7^th grade we were shipped out to the Wrangell Institute in Ketchikan, and then Mt. Edgecombe, near Sitka. I was there for three years and then was able to return to Adak for my senior year, after the Molly Hootch Case. When we were sent ‘out’ to school, we were separated from our families and our roots. We had to diversify and change and were forced into a different way of thinking. After nine months of the school year, I was excited to go home, especially after the Molly Hootch Case.”

“We were a hunter/gatherer society for subsistence. I went on my first sea hunt with the elders when I was about six or seven years old. The youngsters observed and learned and did not say anything; then we imitated what went on. We salted, dried, and smoked the fish and other sea mammals, and we hunted reindeer as a supplemental food source. My mother and sisters did all the cooking and I used to watch my mother butcher animals. I learned how to butcher birds because she taught me. My sisters did household chores and gathered edible roots and beach grass to make the tightly woven baskets the Aleuts are known for – they split the grass and laid it in the sun to cure. Plants were used for dyeing the grasses and later colored threads were used. I was the middle child of seven children – I had four brothers and two sisters.

“After I graduated from high school, I started teaching Aleut and developing a bilingual education program. There was nothing else for me to do in the village. I went for literacy training and was at the University of Connecticut for a short time with an anthropologist who was studying the Aleut. I became his ‘live specimen’ and he would brag about me to his friends. He was famous for the discovery of continuous living of the Aleuts for more than eight thousand years.

“I was working full-time and taking classes at UAF and earned my B.A. in Aleut Language and History with a minor in Linguistics. I was a para-professional for a long time, but did not like the way some of the teachers were treating my people. I received my MAT at Alaska Pacific University in Elementary Education. I wasn’t really interested in getting a Master’s degree, just in taking classes. Halfway through the year, they told me I was in the Master’s program. I met my wife in Nome when I worked there for a short time.

“I did most of my linguistic training in Oslo, Norway. I have always been interested in languages. I was helping a linguist who knew my family as he collected language data for the development of an Aleut dictionary. I also visited Eastern Russia to do some work there, near the Kamchatka Peninsula.”

Near the end of our chat, Moses treated me with folklore about a Song Sparrow and a Winter Wren who were eating a beached whale. They ate so much that the wren was too fat to get back out of the blowhole, and when the sparrow tried to help him, he had his limbs and neck broken. The moral of the story is that you should not try to hoard things – you should share and not be greedy.

Moses said he has had a good and happy life and I feel very fortunate that he was willing to share his story with me.

This is a story of Roots as told to me by Moses Dirks.

December 2, 2010

Roots

Written by: Jake Todd, CITC Social Studies Teacher, Bartlett High School

I had been home for three days. Maybe four.

It is hard to tell after traveling from one side of the globe to the other. I remembered recuperating a lot quicker in my younger days, but this time was rough. I was having trouble keeping food down, sleeping, staying awake and just feeling OK in any respect. I had just returned from the Middle East, where I had been working as a teacher in the Peace Corps. During my toughest days, I had daydreamed about the second I could step off the plane at Ted Stevens International and become instantly overwhelmed with joy and happiness.

The reality was less fantastic. I had lost 20 pounds, had no job and no money. Even if I was ready to attack a bowl of my mom's caribou stew, the two or three spoonfuls that made it into my stomach would not have lasted long there. The slow struggle of reclaiming seemingly lost skills like speaking English, driving a car and showering more than once a week were dampening the joy of being in familiar surroundings again. It was not until a trip to the family camp near Montana Creek that I was finally able to take a full breath.

Being inside my family’s one room log cabin, where I had spent countless weeks throughout my boyhood, I was finally able to relax at the deepest level. There was no goat chewing through my electricity line, no boys throwing rocks at me, no forced eating of food that I knew would make me sick. I was alone. In that instant, I realized that the sand inside an hourglass had suddenly reversed its flow for me. I had spent the previous two years in a foreign place, thinking about this exact cabin in times of stress and bouts of homesickness. And now there I was, finally able to relax, listen to the local radio station, and sit so very still, in complete silence.

It was absolutely amazing, to realize that you are in exactly the spot in the universe that you want to be. Someplace familiar, like home.

That is my story of reconnecting with my roots, as I remember it.

December 1, 2010

Roots

Written by: Misty Mosquito, CITC Language Arts Teacher, Begich Middle School

Sitting in the passenger seat on the drive down to Kenai last week for the holiday, I began to contemplate my childhood in order to write about my “roots”. My personal experience has been that I have come full circle in my appreciation of my roots. At one point in my naïve youth, I tried to fight them. Deny them. I was consumed with ensuring that I would never reflect them in adulthood. I write this with great humility, honesty, pride, and a sense of amazing growth.

As a child, I was raised modestly. Neither of my parents had made it past high school, so we were by no means wealthy. At five, I was obliviously blissful with that fact. By thirteen, I was bitter. My mom used to say, “We may not be rich with money- but we are rich with love.” I remember how frustrated I would get with that statement, because it usually preceded the explanation as to why I could not get something that I wanted. In early adolescence, I made the decision that I would never raise my own children in poverty and struggle the way I had been raised. I became determined to become educated in order to have a chance having an actual “career” verses a “job”. I did not want to end up raising my children in the cabin that my grandfather built in 1950-something. No way! I wanted a “real” house, a fancy one. One with brand new kitchen appliances and a garage.

I kept this to myself, as I knew my dad had worked his tail off as a carpenter in order to get the running water hooked up recently so that we have that luxury. When we hunted, fished, or ate salmon or moose for dinner as we had usually done 4-5 days a week, I would be resentful, and wish for “normal” food like pork chops or chicken. My mom would always preach to me: “This food is better than that store food”. “Don’t be materialistic. It will cost you more than you will gain.” Or when I would vow that I was going to be rich and successful one day, she would lecture me simplicity and values. I felt sad that she valued our family more than herself and always put us first. I wondered what her potential had been before becoming a mother and what happened to her ambitions or if she ever had any. (Remember, I was young.).

As my parents were ill equipped to help me on my path to a post-secondary education, a teacher that I admired took on that responsibility. I had never realized how many options I had. I wanted to do everything and anything different. I began the path to knowing everything. And thought I did- until a few years ago. It was as if I had an awakening. I realized that as uneducated as my parents were, they were far wiser than I had ever given them credit. Education does not equal sense. Suddenly, everything they said made sense. Being married and having children of my own, I realized that I had become my mother. My family was my core. All of my efforts were for them more than for me. I was thankful for my meager upbringing, because I had learned to value and take great care of things, and that materialism is insatiable. I was shocked at how the intrinsic reward of accomplishing things had been far more enjoyable than any monetary reward.

I see my subsistence work and foods as a treasure. A labor that feeds me spiritually as well as physically (and that mom was right on the nutritional values!). I value family over all else. My family is my shelter, my confidence, and my greatest gift. And when we struggle, it is opportunity to reinforce our support and love for each other. Suddenly I crave simplicity and the comforts of the little things. I look forward all year to the shorts stays in the cabin that my grandfather built and have pride in all of the lumber he nailed with his own hands, all of the amazing people that were raised in that house. All of them once young, and ignorant like I was, and all of the lessons learned within its walls. Everything that I am proud of myself for, everything that I have to offer, and my appreciation of my family and life’s gifts are all a result of my roots.

November 30, 2010

Roots

Written by: Joe Wilson, CITC Chemistry Teacher, Bartlett High School

Not long ago several of us from CITC went to a conference in Victoria, BC, Canada. At this conference, I was to meet one of the most influential people of my life, Dr. Martin Brokenleg. He made the point that if you were to go back just 20 generations in human history we would find that all of us would be cousins. When studying biology I am often impressed with this thought, in the grand scheme of things we are a very young species, we have only been here for about a million years, which completely agrees with Dr, Brokenleg’s statement. Having this in mind at the same time when considering ones roots often leads to some surprising connections. What follows below are some glimpses of those connections.

Dick Thompson was at the same conference with Dr. Brokenleg and he reminds us of this at many of our meetings by saying “Hi Cousins! “ to the whole group no matter how diverse the group is.

A biology class in L.A. was doing a genomic experiment in which their DNA was sequenced and compared to an international data base. The was a group of kids that were ethnically very diverse, African-American, Caucasian, Native American Indian and so on. They discovered that even in this diverse group that about two thirds of them were related to a single woman from northern China that lived long ago but her DNA was known. I would have loved to have been in that classroom when they discovered how closely related they really were.

Tehoshpayhe (I hope I have come close in the spelling of it) is a Lakota word that I learned from Dr. Brokenleg. It refers to the concept of an extended family unit somewhat larger than the one portrayed in the American family of two parents and two and a half children. The Lakota unit of Tehoshpayhe would include about 100 brothers, sisters, parents, grandparents, cousins, aunts and uncles each playing and important role in the overall unit. Spirit is an important theme here so I got the feeling from Dr. Brokenleg that ancestors might even play a part. At a recent family reunion, we Alaskan members of the Wilson tribe cooked moose stew for 96 family members and I found myself thinking how connected we all were. Several of us at the reunion remarked about this feeling of spirit, stories of recently the departed and ancestors led to discussion of genetics, history and genealogy.

The roots of the family had been had been a passion for many relatives at the reunion and a collaboration of those with this passion produced a family tree that stretched back several hundred years. I have a copy of it and it would cover most a wall in my classroom. As extensive as it is, it falls far short of showing the connections and roots of all of us, but perhaps it is a fair start. Wouldn’t it be cool if we could all become more aware of the connections of our roots? Doesn’t this suggest that we are more alike than different, that we have more in common to celebrate than differences to fear?

“We must learn to live together as brothers or perish together as fools.” - Rev. Martin Luther king Jr.