CITC Way of Life: A Native Values Writing Project

Happy New Year!

2011-01-07T08:41:00.000-09:00

Resilience

Written by: Rachel Nielsen, Receptionist, Administration Department

When my father William Komakhuk was 23 years old, he was offered a reindeer herding job by the Lomen’s Company in Nome to herd 3,444 reindeer to the Inuit in Canada and my father accepted. The Inuit’s food supply was sparse, so the Canadian Government requested that Alaska transport reindeer to the Inuit to train them to become reindeer herders so they can become self-sufficient. The initial time to herd the reindeer to Canada was 2 years but the actual time was 5 years. My father described it as a grueling time but he was physically and mentally fit to do this job. He learned to sleep walk while he herded the reindeer. He heard the reindeer noises as he sleep walked. He learned to navigate by the stars, knew when a storm was brewing, how to breed strong reindeer, where the best protective place to reside for the night and build emergency shelters, sew new gear using reindeer skins, utilize and improvise what the land provided and learned to speak English.

In the early spring, the eight herders looked for a place that was sheltered from the wind and rain, abundant water and lichen, easy to spot other game and had proficient vegetation. This special spot was for the pregnant reindeer to conceive their young and wait patiently for the newborns to become strong enough to continue their strenuous journey. He was well aware of all the predators and those who posed a threat to the herders and the reindeer.

Many major and minor incidents happened during this journey. One came to my mind very vividly. As my sleep walking father herded the reindeer, he was awakened by silence. He immediately ran to the front of the reindeer to determine why the reindeer came to a complete stop. He peered into a vast area and at the edge of a cliff, there was a shear drop of 300+ feet. He and the rest of the herders rounded up the deer and redirected them. When they arrived at their destination, most of the herd was bred and born during the trek.

We came from a hardy, persistent ancestry who were the ultimate survivors in one of the most harsh environments on earth. With that said, we as Alaskans have this bred into us and need to tap into this vast arena of adventure, wonder, persistence, strength, wisdom, courage, etc. on a daily basis.

December 17, 2010

2010-12-17T09:09:00.000-09:00

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

2010-12-16T09:07:00.001-09:00

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

2010-12-15T09:07:00.001-09:00

(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

2010-12-14T09:42:00.000-09:00

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

2010-12-13T09:07:00.001-09:00

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,

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

2010-12-10T08:51:00.001-09:00

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

2010-12-09T08:38:00.001-09:00

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

2010-12-08T08:09:00.001-09:00

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

2010-12-07T09:09:00.002-09:00

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

2010-12-03T08:33:00.000-09:00

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

2010-12-02T09:18:00.001-09:00

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

2010-12-01T08:29:00.001-09:00

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

2010-12-01T08:27:00.001-09:00

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.

November 29, 2010

2010-11-29T08:20:00.000-09:00

Roots

Written by: Dustin Madden, CITC Integrated Science Teacher, Bartlett High School

I’m going home for Christmas break.

Back to Nome...

The mere thought of returning crumples my insides into a tangled knot. A flood of different emotions courses through my body; the warm feeling in my chest that comes from a lifetime of memories of family and friends tussles with the sickening ache in my liver that I get when I think about seeing my friends and acquaintances stumbling down Front Street, eyes glazed, struggling to greet me through a haze of fetid breath.

In the end, the warmth of connection and the grounded sense of place wins the match. I think back to the day I graduated high school, when one of the town’s unofficial genealogists congratulated me on being the fourth generation of my family to finish high school at Nome Beltz. It took me a moment, but I realized it was true: me, my father, my grandmother, and my great-grandmother Frances all received diplomas from this same place.

Frances was quite proud to have been the first Alaska Native woman to graduate from Nome Beltz High School-- I could see it in her face when I was little and we would stop by to drop off fish heads, or to eat dinner, or simply to chat. She was a strong woman who believed in the value of education, and managed to raise eight children into intelligent, articulate adults. While her children, grandchildren, and great-grandchildren are now scattered throughout the United States, they all share a common foundation created by Frances.

I say, “created” because although Frances was born in Nome, her mother died in the Spanish influenza epidemic, and so she was shipped to the Chemawa boarding school in Oregon. I never heard details about her time there, but I assume it wasn’t entirely pleasant, because even when asked by close family she would never share tales of her time there. When at last she returned to Nome at age 17, she plunged into life there, deepening her connection to her Iñupiaq culture, and then shared this bond to her heritage with her children. This is why to this day I am rooted not only to the physical location of Nome, but also to the story of heritage and education pioneered by my granny.

This is a tale of roots as I experienced it and as it was told to me by many of my family members throughout the course of my lifetime.

November 26, 2010

2010-11-24T10:09:00.001-09:00

Humility

Written by: Shannon Keegan, CITC Science Teacher, Bartlett High School

When I was 16, I watched a news story about a company that guided bicycle tours all over the country. I loved to bicycle and always wanted to see mountains so I called the number and ordered a brochure. I picked out a trip that would take me 650 miles from Montana through the Canadian Rockies and sent in my deposit.

Then reality set in. Not just about the bike ride, but about the amount of money I would need to raise in order to make the trip happen. In addition to the tour price, I had to buy a road worthy bike, as my old Schwinn wouldn't make it to the end of the block.

I grew up in Michigan farm country where seed corn was the crop of choice. I had connections in the corn business and quickly signed a contract to weed the fields outside of town. At $4 an acre, I didn't think it wouldn't take long to have the cash in my pocket and a fancy new ride to cruise through the countryside.

Hoeing corn however, turned out to be a brutal experience. The fields were hot and humid. The sharp edged blades left me covered in red welts and scratches. It was not a job that too many teenagers endured for long. I would have quit but I knew the trip would never happen if I did.

My parents knew how strongly I felt about this trip. They would have just given me the money and sent me off to the mountains if they could have. They would have done anything to help me pursue my dreams. Instead, they did the one thing they could do. Every afternoon my Dad would drive straight from work to my field, pick up a hoe, and spend the rest of the day digging weeds out from between the rows. Sometimes, my mom would come too. What I remember, though, is my Dad, tired from a long day at a dreary job, quietly walking up and down the fields, enduring the 100+ heat. He never complained. He never said anything about not being able to give me with the one thing I wanted more than anything else in my life. He just hoed corn, day after day, week after week, until his hands calloused and his feet blistered.

We eventually hoed enough corn to pay for the trip and we bought the best bike my freshly cashed check would buy. Then I rode that bike over the high mountain passes and past the milky blue lakes I'd always wanted to see.

I consider that trip to be the single most pivotal experience of my life. Riding a bike through the Canadian Rockies when I was 16 changed everything for me. That in and of itself is a story to be told and one I often do tell.

I've never really told the story that lead up to this life changing event, though. I could have worked the corn fields by myself that summer and would have eventually made the money I needed. I know it was difficult for my parents to feel that they couldn't just provide everything for their kids. Rather than feel bad about it, they turned it into a memorable, shared summer. I have never forgotten what they were willing to do to help me.

November 25, 2010

2010-11-24T10:02:00.002-09:00

Humility

Written by: Crystal Brown, CITC Reading Teacher, Lake Hood Elementary

As a society, most of us are continuously striving for success and achievement. Once achieved, we feel very proud of ourselves for our accomplishments. Humble people should be just as proud of their success, but are usually aware that they did not get where they are completely on their own. They know and acknowledge that others have helped them accomplish their goals and attain their success.

To be humble is to be selfless, sincere and thankful. One who is humble, does things not for credit or recognition, but simply because it is the right thing to do. Humble people often go unnoticed because they are not constantly trying to spotlight their ‘greatness’ in an effort to feel important. Becoming humble is not something that happens over night; like all other good habits, it should be worked on and practiced often.

It is far more impressive when others discover your good qualities without your help. ~Author Unknown

November 24, 2010

2010-11-24T10:02:00.001-09:00

Humility

Written by: Rachel Nielsen, Human Resources Clerk, Cook Inlet Tribal Council, Inc.

My parents’ intent for a “big” family was for subsistence purposes. We had 14 kids in our family – 10 girls and 4 boys, 5 of which have passed on. Since there were more girls than boys, my father chose two girls to become hunters. Both had keen vision and were able to spot animals, people, boats, etc., at a far distance. Both were agile and excelled at shooting guns and hitting the target right on. The rest of us girls were the meat haulers, fish cutters, bakers, cooks, and cleaned house.

I was the baker. How I became the baker was when I was 10 years old, my father and mother awoke early one fall Saturday to fish for tomcods. Just before leaving the house, my mother glanced my way and said, “Make some bread.” Before I could reply, she was off and running. I cried for a few minutes feeling overwhelmed and inadequate. I sat watching my mother make bread every Saturday. With this knowledge, she knew I was ready to make bread on my own.

I got the bread pan (a light gray huge wash pan), flour, salt, sugar, yeast, canned milk and warm water. I put warm water in a small bowl and put some yeast in it. I mixed the floor, sugar and salt together. I placed the yeast mixture, shortening and more warm water and poured in the canned milk. I stirred it together and added the flour mixture little at a time making sure there were no flour lumps. I added floor until the dough was kneadable. I kneaded the dough using my whole body. It was a big “blob” over half my size. I rubbed shortening over the bread ball and placed a dishtowel over the dough. I placed the pan by the sun to make it rise faster.

When the dough doubled in size, running over the rim, I punched it down. I got a knife, cut a sizable piece, shaped it into a loaf, placed it into the bread pan, and rubbed shortening on it. When the bread doubled in size, I fired up the oven, and placed the bread in the hot oven. I baked the bread for 45 minutes, placed the bread on a rack and rubbed the tops with shortening.

When my mother and father came home, my mother was surprised that I made 13 loaves of bread. From then on, I was dubbed “the baker” of the family. So, with this said, I learned to embrace new and adventurous opportunities. My saying is, “Whenever an obstacle is in my way, I look at it as a challenge and I become stronger because of it.”

November 23, 2010

2010-11-23T09:53:00.001-09:00

Humility

Written by: Stephanie Rogers, Special Programs Manager, Educational Services System

One day I helped a woman create her resume. She was coming back into the work force after 15 years of being a caregiver to her family. She was a bit apprehensive. I asked her to list the things she did every day. She was almost irritated that I thought this would help solve her writing block.

When she was done, she was rather skeptical. How in the world would her everyday non-working life turn into a professional resume? I began reading her rather lengthy list and was completely amazed. This single parent cared for three children and an ailing mother. She only had the bus for transportation, no income other than the monthly SSI check and no help at home except an occasional visit from a sibling. Her children were receiving high grades in school, she volunteered at her church, took care of the house and yard and cooked all of the meals for everyone. She made sure her mother received all her medications on time, and took her to doctor appointments. She even helped the elderly neighbor. This woman was amazing!

After the resume was complete, she was very grateful although still a bit perplexed. She had no idea what she did every day was far more than what she would do in any “job.” This in my opinion is true humility. People who do amazing things everyday without question or without being proud, just because it needs to be done.

This happened at Cook Inlet Tribal Council’s Hospitality and Tourism Department in 2003.

November 22, 2010

2010-11-22T09:05:00.001-09:00

Humility

Written by: Eileen Jordan, CITC Math Teacher, Romig Middle School

One fall, the municipality at Russian Jack Chalet was offering a beading class. I had always wanted to learn how to bead. I mean just how difficult could it be? I signed up for the class and was so optimistic about creating some beautiful beading projects. I knew it would be slow, but had no idea just how slow it would be...for me. The instructor was kind and patient, but I had to do the work after she showed me how to get started. I had a flower pattern, perfect needles, perfect thread and perfect lighting.

After 2 hours of working on my first beading project, I think I had beaded one side of a leaf. Beads were rolling all over the place and I seemed to run out of thread right before I was to end the line or corner. My eyes were tired and my shoulders were tense from sitting for so long without moving around.

I went home a bit frustrated to say the least. I was determined to create at least one small (very small) project with the beads. My thoughts went back to some of the most beautiful beaded art work I have ever seen from all over Alaska. I thought about how the women would create this beadwork with items they used from natural resources such as bones, quills, and plants. How did they create such beautiful designs and patterns?

My appreciation and awe of their work changed a lot after that one class.

Now when I wander through our beautiful museum and see the beadwork, I cannot help but appreciate their patience and creativity on a completely different level.

November 19, 2010

2010-11-19T08:58:00.001-09:00

Humor

Written by: Alice Metz, CITC Teacher/Tutor, Education Resource Center, ESS

This incident happened when my grandson was at the age of three. My daughter and grandson relocated to Alaska from Fort Riley, Kansas during the spring season.

One day during the summer season my husband, daughter, and grandson were at home. My daughter was getting her son ready for an afternoon nap. My husband wanted to talk to my daughter about something. They were discussing an issue for a while and then my husband realized the quietness of their surroundings. Both of them looked at each other and wondered where my grandson went. They both looked in all the rooms of the house and in the backyard. There was no sign of him.

They alerted our neighbors and they formed a search party right away. At the same time, my daughter called 911 and explained what was going on. Our next-door neighbor is a policeman, which he also noticed of the absence of my grandson.

The search party had started looking for my grandson. My daughter had weird thoughts about her son. “What if he had already been hit by a car or someone kidnapped him. If a vehicle had hit him, the search party would by now notify her. If a stranger kidnaps him, I have lost my only son and I will never see him again.”

My husband happened to go to the master bedroom and without any purpose flipped the covers from the bed. Underneath the covers was my grandson innocently sound asleep.

The search party was notified that my daughter’s son was found.

November 18, 2010

2010-11-18T08:54:00.001-09:00

Humor

Written by: Dave Voisine, CITC Reading Teacher, Willow Crest Elementary School

“Jack the Shaq O’Neill”

As an elementary basketball coach, I had a very good team one year, with the exception of a good center. The boys in 5^th grade suggested that Jack try out for the team. Please understand that Jack was a fifth grader, but measured in at 5’ 7” and 250 pounds! Immediately, Jack piped in that he couldn’t do it because he didn’t know how to play basketball. I answered that this was not a problem. “All you have to do is stand in the middle of the key, keep your arms up, and don’t let anyone through!” Still skeptical, Jack finally agreed.

Elementary basketball in the village draws a huge crowd. Parents and grandparents love to see the youngsters play basketball. The first game we were to play was against one of our arch rivals.

In order to get Jack into a uniform, my wife had to enlarge a size L elementary uniform with material scraps. Jack’s appearance on the basketball court caused quite a sensation – especially with the opposing team and their fans in attendance.

The opposing team got the ball first. Their players were usually quick and agile. One of their guards was rapidly dribbling down the court, so I hollered to Jack, “Just stand there and put your arms up!” The little guy dribbling had no idea where Jack was because his concentration was focused on dribbling the ball. Next thing we knew, we saw this young player look up ready to shoot, and confront the human wall that was Jack. Unable to stop his momentum, he collided with Jack and bounced back to the top of the key. Totally startled, he laid there and looked up Jack.

At first, a hush came over the crowd. Jack, being the “gentle giant” that he was, he went over and helped the youngster to his feet. Still wobbly from the collision, the youngster’s face sported a look of total confusion. The crowd erupted in applause and great laughter.

From that moment on, the opposing team stayed clear of Jack and the key.

This is how the people of the Yukon Delta displayed humor to me.

November 17, 2010

2010-11-17T08:58:00.000-09:00

Humor

Written by: Katie Tunuchuk, CITC Reading Teacher, Scenic Park Elementary School

Humor, what does it mean? Why is it a Yup’ik value? As I was thinking of what to write for this piece, the one thing that kept popping into my head were my “uicung” (male to female cousin) and my “ilung” (female to female cousin) from another village. In other words, my teasing cousins. When I first met them, I was told by my dad and other relatives that I was supposed to tease them.

I didn’t know these two people very well and I didn’t feel comfortable enough to tease them. The teasing was very light in the beginning and didn’t happen all the time. As we got to know each other better, the teasing became more intense and happened more often.

When you have a teasing cousin, it is your job to tease that person as much as possible. There are some valuable things you can learn from teasing and being teased: self-control so you don’t go overboard in your teasing, patience so you don’t get angry when you are being teased, and endurance (if you can dish it, you need to be able to take it too). Another important aspect to teasing is the ties that strengthen the bonds between the cousins. Today, I have a close relationship with my two cousins and we continue to tease each other as much as possible.

November 16, 2010

2010-11-16T08:42:00.001-09:00

Humor

Written by: Missy Gumlickpuk, CITC Student Support Advocate, Begich Middle School/Education Resource Center

We all have our own unique sense of humor. I am fortunate to be surrounded with people who I believe have the finest sense of humor. Through humor, I have learned to get through some of life’s rough patches and I would like share some stories about the people in my life that have contributed.

My Mom is one of the few people I know that uses humor in all that she does. Her humor is very unique and uplifting. She loves to make people laugh, which makes her one of the greatest people I know. There are times when her humor is very inappropriate but somehow still can make you laugh to the point where there are tears coming from your eyes.

One time in particular I can remember was when I was in high school. I got into trouble with my science teacher and was sent to the principal’s office. My mom was very angry. After we met with the principal she cracked a joke and said, “you get sent to the principal’s office more than your brothers combined (I have 4 brothers)!” She knew exactly what to say to make me laugh and help me forget about my troubles. To this day, we can laugh about anything, and those are truly memories I will never forget.

My best friend is another person in my life that has a great sense of humor. There is never a dull moment with her. I always tell her that she can be a great stand up comedian. She can turn any bad situation into a comic-laughing riot. I have gone through a lot this year and honestly, without her I don’t think I could have done it on my own. I know I can always count on her to make me smile and laugh when I need it most.

My cousin and I have the same type of sense of humor. Put us together and we laugh up a storm! We have found that when we are scared or nervous the great tool of laughter and humor can get us through just about anything!

These three people in my life have certainly put a lot of laughter in my life and a light into the reality of how humor can ease hardship and make your day go by just a little smother. I know I can always count on them whenever I need a good laugh. Good humor is a wonderful thing.

“Through humor, you can soften some of the worst blows that life delivers. And once you find laughter, no matter how painful your situation might be, you can survive it.” – Bill Cosby

November 15, 2010

2010-11-15T08:11:00.001-09:00

Humor

Written by: Judy Voisine, CITC Intermediate Literacy/Math Teacher, Willow Crest Elementary

When I first met Theresa, she seemed to have not a care in the world! She could find humor in any situation, and got everyone and me around her to giggle or guffaw several times hourly. Spending any amount of time with Theresa left you feeling positive and energized for the rest of the day!

Theresa spent part of the day as the instructional aide in my classroom, so I was blessed with spending a lot of time with her. I soon learned that Theresa was a survivor. She had survived a failed marriage, diabetes, breast cancer, a brain tumor, and the suicide of a son and several nieces and nephews. She was the sole source of support for an ailing parent, was raising 2 granddaughters, and helped out a bedridden sibling. This she did with the ability to find humor in almost any situation, and to put a smile on almost any face.

To this day, when I feel overwhelmed or down in the dumps, I think, “What would Theresa have done?” I realize that Theresa probably made the conscious decision every morning to greet life with humor. Her strength of character makes her one of my foremost role models.

This is an example of the resilient Native value of humor I saw demonstrated in an Alaska Bush community on the Yukon River.

November 12, 2010

2010-11-12T09:00:00.000-09:00

Respect

Written by: Richard Larochelle, CITC Math & Material Science Teacher, Bartlett High School

I grew up in Maine and spent summers helping my father, a lumberjack in the forests. It was hard work but satisfying. He trained me to stay alert, how to use a chain saw, cut at a certain angle to fall a tree and communicate with the other camp members. Lumberjack skills require concentration, math skills, good physical condition, constantly on the alert and awareness of surroundings. Reading the weather and watching the seasonal changes were also an important asset in decision-making.

Years later when my wife’s brothers took me out hunting on the Yukon Delta, the skills my father taught me helped me to assimilate to that region. Observing the coastal weather and reading tides were a little challenging, but I had good teachers. I found that although I lived in a different environment and culture, my upbringing proved that our values are similar. There is a need to pay attention, practice close observation; work hard and listen respectfully to name a few are universal standards.

Knowledge from the two diverse cultures who share the same principles gives me a good foundation in my teaching career.

November 11, 2010

2010-11-11T08:19:00.001-09:00

Respect

Written by: Dora Boyscout, CITC Academic Advocate, Romig Middle School

Respect can be hard to come by in this day and age. Most often, we have to earn it. Within my culture, respect had to be. No matter the person, respect had to be shown. We were taught to respect those around us and their belongings, authority, and the rules of the community.

Growing up the village, back in the day, is a memory of carefree and fun filled days and rules that needed to be followed. I remember playing outside for long periods of time and it would get dark but we didn’t know how to tell time. The only way we knew it was time to head on home was the sound of the church bell. Without any questions asked, we all would head home. At times there would be a police officer walking around letting us know it was time to head home. He would just say, “good night”, and we would all stop playing and head home…no questions asked.

It just goes to show how much respect was taught to us while growing up. I am grateful for my parents and the elders of the community for teaching us respect in many different ways.

November 10, 2010

2010-11-10T10:31:00.001-09:00

Respect

Written by: Cami Larochelle, CITC Reading Teacher, Scenic Park Elementary

I still can hear Ataataq’s, (my grandfather) voice speaking in his limited English. “When a person comes in the house, you ask: “You hungry? Thirsty? Feed them, no matter what they look like, handsome, pretty, ugly, Eskimo or not, rich or poor, set the table for them and feed them.”

We did not have electricity or running water back then. Our homes were heated by wood stove. Everyone participated in our subsistence way of living in St. Michael. Our travels via dog teams and walking throughout the cold winter days always made the offer of tea or food sound welcome. It wasn’t the gesture that was important, but the belief and value behind it.

My mother explained, “When you give, it’ll come back to you, never be stingy.” Another version of my grandfather and mother’s words is: Give and it will be given unto you, pressed down, shaken together and overflowing.

This value system is not a hand out, nor one of greed. It is a prosperous value of caring for one another with a grateful attitude for the One who provided.

November 9, 2010

2010-11-09T09:01:00.001-09:00

Respect

Written by: Helen Ramondos, CITC Reading Teacher, Lake Hood Elementary

No one can make you feel inferior without your consent. Eleanor Roosevelt (Former First Lady)

When I was a child, my parents regularly admonished me to “respect others”. I grew to see the wisdom in their ways and always sought their counsel. They seemed so knowledgeable, as people in the community valued and respected them because they treated others equally. I now realize that what I have come to value in myself, I became because of my father and my mother.

As a teacher, I felt the need for my students to understand the concept of respect and evaluate their own beliefs regarding it. I wanted them to identify respectful behaviors and how the impact of their behaviors affected others. One of my lessons on respect was where my students’ would have a “Pair-Share” exchange. Each student would fill out a worksheet on sentence starters such as “The person I respect most is __; My parents taught me to respect ___; I demonstrate respect for my heritage when I ___; Respect means__; I show respect by__. The class would then be divided into pairs and share with the whole class the ideas they generated. The class discussions involved all to understand not only their own beliefs on respect, but others, as well.

The following are some of my students’ verbatim responses on “Respect”:

Respect is being kind.

Respect is listening to my teacher.

Respect is not to talk back to my parents or teachers.

Respect is to be polite and nice to my family and friends.

Respect is obeying my mommy and daddy and papa and gramma.

Respect means being good.

Respect means listen. I listen because I love my mom and I love baby Anthony.

Respect means be kind and be a good listener.

Respect means help others and be nice to them and be kind. Help teach them things they don’t know. Be respectful to them.

Respect means to listen to the teachers and the parents.

Respect means that you have to respect others and that you have to be nice to them. Respect your teachers and anyone in your classroom or at your house. You have to be nice to everyone even your brother and your sister and mom and dad and gramma and papa.

Respect means being good, liking people, not being mean, and be good. I talk like I am smart and good and I like myself and that is what respect means.

I show respect to my elders by listening to them and helping them babysit, also cleaning up and helping them with their stuff.

I show respect to my elders by listening to them. I like my grandpa and when I have company.

I show respect to my dad to be good and behave.

I show respect to my grandma and I show respect to others. I treat them nice and I treat my sister nice when she does that back to me. I even help my mom and dad.

I show respect to my elders by helping them walk by holding their hand, going to my grandma’s house to keep them company, listening to my grandma, and helping make my bed.

Respect means I help my Nana Sheila and Grandpa Bill clear off the table.

Respect means don’t talk when somebody else is. No kicking or hitting. Raise your hand instead of shouting.

I show respect to my grandma by finding her glasses.

I show respect to my grandma by cleaning up.

Respect means I’m being kind. I help others.

I have listed some books on respect that I have used in my classroom over the years,

and a brief synopsis on what they are about.

Morning on the Lake by J.B. Waboose—This is a story about how a Native American child and her grandmother spent the day in the wilderness. It promotes the familial love and respect for all living things that share the universe. A great book for all kids and adults too!

Summer of the Swans by B. Byars—A fictional story of a teenage girl who gains new insight and respect into herself and her family when her mentally handicapped brother gets lost. Intermediate

A Sign of the Beaver by E. Speare---A Newbery Honor fictional story of a boy named Matt, who ends up alone in the wilderness while his father returns south to get the rest of the family. He is faced with many challenges and meets a North American chief and his grandson who teaches them survival skills. A great book on respect and appreciation of another culture. Intermediate and older.

A Man Called Raven by Richard Van Camp---A Pacific Northwest folklore that teaches respect for life, both human and animal. Primary.

Anna’s Athabascan Summer by Arnold Griese---The book shows the intergenerational relationship of an Athabascan girl and her grandmother’s travels to a fish camp in interior Alaska. It includes traditional teaching by grandmother and respect and spirituality shown to salmon, the raven and other aspects of nature. A great self-image for children. Primary.

Wish by Roseanne Thong---The book shows respect for traditions around the world. Each custom provides insights into the cultures of lands far and near while reminding us of the similarities we all share. Primary to intermediate grades.

Wisdom Tales From Around The World by Heather Forest---A collection of 27 folktales from around the world with respect for diverse traditions. A great read aloud. Ideal for young adults.

Knots on a Counting Rope by B. Martin---A Native American grandfather tells a blind boy the inspirational story of a child’s birth. The counting rope is a metaphor for the passage of time and for a boy’s emerging confidence facing his physical handicap. A rich tale of intergenerational love and respect. Primary

It is in our own interest that we give others their due respect. It is a win-win situation.

“When I approach a child, he inspires in me two sentiments: Tenderness for what he is, and respect for what he may become”. Louis Pasteur (1822-1895) French Scientist

November 8, 2010

2010-11-08T10:30:00.001-09:00

Respect

Written by: Letitia Freed, Tribal Vocational Rehabilitation Counselor Associate, Employment & Training Services Department

From as far back as I can remember I have always wanted to come to Alaska. Therefore, making the move to Alaska was not difficult for me. It was more like the awakening of destiny for me. I would only come to learn how much. The minute we learned that the military was about to reassign us to the State of Alaska we began making plans for our new life. We knew that this would be our last military assignment and we would probably retire in this new location. We imagined how we would gaze at the beautiful snow capped mountains and partake in a variety of winter related activities. This assignment would represent a dream come true for us.

Shortly after the military issued us this new assignment to Alaska, I received a rather unpleasant medical diagnosis by my doctor, who only had limited knowledge of this somewhat rare medical condition and its’ affects on my quality of life. After arriving at my new base, I was immediately assigned to a doctor who happened to have a little more knowledge about this medical condition than the previous doctor. I began to ask this doctor about the necessary lifestyle changes I could make to prevent any further damage and better manage this condition. The Dr.’s response was, “Eliminate meats from your diet altogether, drink lots of water and eat wild Alaskan Salmon. These changes should help prevent any further damage.” I was initially skeptical, but complied nonetheless.

Three years later, my insurance company finally approved me for a visit to see a specialist for my condition. During the visit, the specialist compared my initial lab results to the present. He said, “Your medical condition is actually improving according to these lab results. What happened? What did you do?’ I began to explain to him about the lifestyle changes I had made at the advice of the other doctor (which included regular salmon consumption). With this news, I was grateful not just because my health was improving, but also because I was lead to a land that was not only beautiful, but also, by virtue of its essence would now offer me the subsistence I needed in my life.

Through this experience, I developed an even greater respect for the land.

November 5, 2010

2010-11-05T08:18:00.001-08:00

Accountability

Written by: Linda Lee, CITC Advanced Math Teacher, West High School

Hanging above the mantle in my parent’s home is a photograph of my family of origin. On the far right of the photo is a staircase leading to a large passenger plane. Standing by the first step is my Mom followed by a diagonal of heads from tallest to smallest children and picking up the rear is my Dad in full uniform holding his briefcase of traveling papers. We are the military family in transit from Newfoundland to Panama. I am the middle child of seven children from a military family. Every three years we moved from one base to another. The family was my constant, my rock, my world. At an early age, we were taught to care for the younger sibling.

But it was when I was sixteen that I learned a more complete lesson of accountability. We were new to Elmendorf, Alaska and both my older brother and my younger sister were new to West High School. It was Halloween, I was going to a basketball game at West, and my younger sister was going with a new girlfriend to a party at her friend’s house. My father had just bought us a used Volkswagen Karman Ghia that was to serve as the older kids’ transportation since most activities took place off base. The Wednesday before the weekend, I learned that the party was not going to be chaperoned and the friend might not be so reputable. But I said nothing to anyone. I was going to the game.

The weekend came, and so did disaster. The neighbors interrupted the girlfriend’s party. Parents of the partiers were called to retrieve their children. My sister was in serious trouble with the family. Her introduction to Alaska and WHS was severely curtailed. Mom and Dad said she should have shown more responsibility. But she really didn’t know all the facts. She became a freshman who stayed home for the better part of the semester. The lesson did not end there. When it became known that I had heard “rumors”, Mom and Dad said my lack of action did not remove my culpability. I joined her in her punishment. My brother’s privilege to use the car was very carefully monitored all year and my father got a write up on his military record. Who was really accountable for this disaster?

Quote about Accountability :

“When you point your finger at someone, remember that four fingers are pointing backward. “

November 4, 2010

2010-11-04T08:42:00.001-08:00

Accountability

Written by: Georgianna Starr, CITC Math Teacher, Begich Middle School

In my years of teaching, there have always been staff meetings, peer observations, administration evaluations, and professional development that focus on teacher accountability especially in the era of NCLB. District offices devote many hours on this task and produce charts and graphs showing which schools have made adequate yearly progress.

When I first began teaching with LKSD, I remember a keynote speaker whose point was this: teachers have many measures of accountability but where is the measure of accountability on the parents of the students that we teach?

This student is now in college, but when I had him in the 5^th grade, he didn’t do homework, he lacked effort in school, and we knew that that what he produced didn’t show his true ability. By around the 2^nd quarter, I was becoming increasingly frustrated, as were the parents, so we organized a meeting with the student. He sat there with a pensive look on his face. As all of us spoke in turn, we all talked about how much we believed in him, about how strongly we felt that his efforts didn’t match his ability. For examples, we showed progress reports and examples of his work. As the meeting went on, the parents made a decision to create a homework schedule. We communicated regularly, and we informed them of what needed extra attention at home.

With the parents’ support, with the communication from school to home, this student became successful. His grades improved, his outlook on school improved as he gained success, and more importantly, his parents involvement showed him that education doesn’t happen in the classroom alone.

This is my experience with parent accountability.

November 3, 2010

2010-11-03T08:29:00.001-08:00

Accountability

Written by: JJ Iverson, CITC Social Studies Teacher, West High School

It was in 1997, as a high school senior, that I remember learning about accountability. As a teenager I pretty much just stuck to my business and was only worried about myself. I had heard my whole life up to that point that a person’s senior year should be one of the best of his/her life. I was determined to make this the case for myself.

This was very evident in football. I did everything I could to put myself in position to be the best player I could be. I wasn’t concerned about team chemistry, brotherhood, keeping others focused, helping develop younger players, etc. However, as a senior captain, it was an unwritten rule that I should be concerned about such ideals.

One day my position group was having a terrible day of practice. Our coach was all over us about our lack of effort, poor attitude, and inability to make adjustments. Push-ups and extra conditioning were our punishments for the poor performance. I had no problems doing the extra work because I knew it was merited.

At the conclusion of practice my coach yanked me aside and told me my teammates had made a mistake by voting me as a captain. I was crushed after hearing this because I thought I was doing the right thing by letting my actions do the talking. My coach’s justification was that I wasn’t being the leader I needed to be in order to help this team reach its full potential. In other words, I wasn’t holding myself accountable. He said that as a captain I should be held accountable for the performance of my teammates, not just my own. He believed that since I was considered a player who could make a difference on the field that I had the responsibility to do the same off of it as well. Being more vocal, being at the front of the line in all drills, snapping at players who were messing around, taking part in other football functions, and taking underclassmen under my wing were examples he cited that could help me earn his respect back and also those of my teammates.

The next day I apologized to my teammates for not being the captain they had expected me to be. I told them from that point on that I would hold myself accountable, but in turn, they should also try to do the same. For the remainder of the season, “BE ACCOUNTABLE” was our battle cry. This simple idea reminded my teammates and I to always be conscious of our jobs and how went about carrying them out.

This is the way I remember the cultural value of being accountable as I experienced in Pierre, SD with my teammates in the fall of 1997.

November 1, 2010

2010-11-01T08:22:00.001-08:00

Accountability

Written by: Doug Herron, CITC PE Teacher, Bartlett High School

I can still remember my mother telling my principal and my teacher on the first day of school that it was ok for them to paddle me if necessary. Those were the “good ‘ol days”. Not so much, but it was the value that my parents instilled at an early age with me and my sister that if we did something wrong, we were expected to own up to it and we were also taught that there were always consequences for our actions.

Accountability was an important value in our family. It was an important value as we interacted with each other and with our friends and other acquaintances. There were expectations. We were also taught that to be accountable also meant to be responsible.

I spent many summers on rivers in Alaska. I had many opportunities to demonstrate my level of maturity or lack of when it came to cabin and boat responsibilities. My motivation was driven by the opportunities to hunt and to fish. I could type up a 10 page paper illustrating the times that I had the opportunity to own up to something and demonstrate my ability to accept full responsibility for my actions. I will share one short story.

I was 14 and had been learning how to drive. Our cabin was situated on a river, but had road access to a small village. I was trying to demonstrate to my father that I was very capable of driving to the village for supplies. One day, my father threw me the keys and sent me and my cousin to town for a few things. My first real opportunity to show that I could do it. Everything went great. I made it to town, I purchased what my father needed and began driving home. I was the coolest 14 year old around. So cool in fact, that I had to roll down the window so I could hang my elbow out like my father did when he drove. Driving with one hand. Now that’s cool!

I approached a guy on a three wheeler, it was one of our neighbors on the river. I made a pass and while I did, I calmly and in my coolest way possible, waved like driving for me was an old hat. What I failed to do was keep my eyes on the road. At that same moment, the road took a sharp right hand turn. I didn’t. I launched the truck airborne, all of the things I had purchased were flying out of the back and into the trees and I was buried up to the doors in mud. I immediately looked for answers (excuses) of why I wrecked my father’s truck. I had to be able to come up with a reason why it happened and it wasn’t my fault. It only took me a few moments to realize that I was going to have to take full responsibility for this one.

Needless to say, I explained what had happened. We found some folks to help pull us out and it wasn’t long after and I was asked to go to town again. Just one of the many examples of how growing up in Alaska as a kid in the bush provides you with many opportunities to learn the value of accountability.

October 27, 2010

2010-10-27T08:12:00.001-08:00

Resilience

Written by: Katie Cueva, CITC Science Teacher/PE Teacher, West High School

As I danced, her laughter echoed throughout the room. An occasional guest instructor in the Community Health Aide trainings, I teach, listen, and learn from the amazing people who provide health in their Alaskan communities. In this particular class, I met a woman with a deep belly laugh that often rang out during our learning activities.

However, when she shared stories of the domestic violence she had been through, I couldn't believe what I was hearing. I saw the scars on her arm where a partner had attacked her with a hatchet, and I felt my stomach turn. How could this woman have been subjected to something that I find unfathomable, yet continue to laugh? I am in awe of her capacity for kindness and the power of resilience.

This is a story about resilience as I experienced it in Anchorage, Alaska.

October 26, 2010

2010-10-26T08:56:00.000-08:00

Resilience

Written by: Ellen Kennedy, CITC Language Arts Teacher, Bartlett High School

I’m always looking for new, interesting books to challenge my students, so when I saw a new book by Sherman Alexie, I bought it right away. What a charming, poignant and humorous read! Reviewers in major newspapers and magazines sang its praises, and I began to see the possibility of using it in Language Arts 9, since Alexie was the same age in the text. Since the school year was about complete, I decided to use it with summer school students—the original curriculum had not worked for them so this new story might.

I handed out the books, we looked at the book jacket and read the kind words on the back; we read the blurb about Alexie on the back flap. Kids wanted to know if he was the writer responsible for “Smoke Signals,” now a cult favorite among young Indian/Native students. Yes, he is, I answered.

We began reading aloud—to get the kids interested. Wow! It is funny and heartbreaking, and surprising all at the same time. The students in my class LOVED it! Because the story is so engaging, they read on to see what was going to happen. They stuck with it; they found success; they passed—not just because of that story, but because they came, worked, and saw success.

Alexie shows resilience in his story. He might be isolated, alienated, alone, but he is loved at home, he triumphs over adversity by sticking with it. Our students learn these things while they read the book. Many of them come to believe that if they stick with it, they too, can be successful.

I hope all our students will be resilient in Anchorage in the Twenty-first Century.

October 25, 2010

2010-10-25T08:22:00.000-08:00

Resilience

The Two Wolves: A Cherokee Legend

Written by: Tara Chamberlain, CITC Language Arts Teacher, Romig Middle School

An old Cherokee was teaching his grandchildren about life. He said, “A battle is raging inside me…it is a terrible fight between two wolves. One wolf represents fear, anger, envy, sorrow, regret, greed, arrogance, self-pity, guilt, resentment, inferiority, lies, false pride, superiority and ego. The other stands for joy, peace, love, hope, sharing, serenity, humility, kindness, benevolence, friendship, empathy, generosity, truth, compassion and faith.”

The old man looked at the children with a firm stare. “This same fight is going on inside you, and inside every other person, too.” They thought about it for a minute, and then one child asked his grandfather, “Which wolf will win?” The old Cherokee replied, “The one you feed.”

Resilience means feeding the wolf that stands for joy, peace, love, hope, sharing, serenity, humility, kindness, benevolence, friendship, empathy, generosity, truth, compassion and faith. Resilience is not something we are born with; it is something that we continue to learn and master as we go through the journey that is life. As a teacher, I am presented with many opportunities to teach our students the skills they need to become resilient people. Recently I had the opportunity to read how my students viewed themselves as resilient people.

I was touched by their honesty and self-awareness; many of them shared personal reflections on difficult experiences they have had to overcome. I feel blessed and honored to be able to work with such resilient and reflective young adults.

October 22, 2010

2010-10-22T08:50:00.001-08:00

(Editor’s note: A special thanks goes out to Ms. Ruth Tong for submitting two very well written, passionate and powerful stories around the value of Interdependence. Thank you for your contributions to our writing project!!!)

Interdependence, Part II

Written by: Ruth Tong, Intake Specialist, Child and Family Services

My father, Gabriel Okitkon of Koyuk, was a wonderful provider, a great hunter and fisherman. He was a very gentle, quiet person married to my outgoing mother. They were a great pair, and wonderful parents.

I always knew Dad provided for myself and six brothers and sisters, and also another family in Koyuk, a divorced mother and her four children. They’d come with us to our fish and berry camp down the coast from Koyuk every summer. What I didn’t know until much later was that he helped raise his four nephews and one niece after his brother and sister-in-law died of the epidemics that hit the coastal villages in mid-20th century.

In addition, my sister, Lois, who moved to the town of Unalakleet in the early 1980s, told me about one of our older cousins from Unalakleet, Laura. Laura would give Lois and her family Native food regularly – berries, dried fish, seal oil, greens, etc. Lois was very appreciative, but after a while, she told Laura she was getting embarrassed for taking so much. Laura told Lois, “I’m just trying to repay your father.”

Laura explained that both her parents died of illness when Laura was about 16, in the 1940s. She had four or five younger brothers and sisters. My father would trap various animals outside Koyuk and take the furs to the Unalakleet trading post. From the proceeds, he’d buy 50-pound bags of flour and sugar and cases of evaporated milk for Laura and her family. Laura said our father enabled her to keep her brothers and sisters with her, and Laura raised them.

Another of my older cousins, also named Laura, told me that my father was a “crack shot,” able to shoot a target with great accuracy. She said that he was one of the first hunters to kill a moose when moose first started appearing in the Seward Peninsula area. Dad was on a bluff near Koyuk when there was ice in the bay, and he shot a moose in the ear from 100 yards with a .22; it fell over, dead. I told my son, Kenneth, he got his shooting ability from my father. Kenny was on the University of Nevada Reno rifle team his first two years of college, on a rifle team scholarship. He used to enter adult rifle matches in the state of Hawaii starting at age 15, and win them against Marine and Army snipers. The snipers would ask me, how old is your son? When I’d say 15, they’d stalk off in disgust at having lost to a teenager.

An elder from Unalakleet, Gilbert, told me a few months ago that Dad was a fast runner too. When Gilbert was a boy, he and some other children were watching Dad approach by dog team from Koyuk. Dad’s sled got caught on a chunk of ice, so dad got off his sled to free it. The dogs bolted off, Dad ran after them, and caught the team. Gilbert said he never saw anyone run so fast. He exclaimed, “This was in the 1930s. We never heard of the Olympics in our part of the country. He could have beaten Jesse Owens!”

So, you can see the attributes that made my father a great hunter, provider, and how he was able to care for a great many others besides his immediate family. I think he was the epitome of the Native value of sharing and interdependence.

October 21, 2010

2010-10-21T09:18:00.001-08:00

Interdependence

The Messenger Feast

Written by: Chris Meier, Director, CITC Educational Services System

Spring festivals are still an important part of life in the Yukon-Kuskokwim Delta. The festivals are a way for villagers to share their resources and the goodness of life. Here is my memory of one of the first I attended in 1993 in Newtok, Alaska.

The temperature had not been above zero for more than a month, and as I walked to the community house, I looked in amazement at two large seals frozen solid and flat on one side where they had been laid after the hunt. One of the seals had been turned over on its round belly and the whole top side was flat and looked like a crew cut running the length of its long body.

About two full cords of frozen lush fish had been stacked like wood into wooden sleds. These sleds resembled Santa Sleighs with their nicely curved sides, only narrower, longer, and generally more rugged then a sled that Santa would use. Seals and lush fish are abundant near this traditional village, and the people there are known to be experts at gathering all that the tundra and the vast waters of their area have to offer. This harvest was only part of what was to be given away at the upcoming festival.

It was at the end of the festival, after the dancing, feasting, and general communion, that I watched as many items where distributed to the visitors from other villages. With a sequence and purposefulness that I did not understand waves of items where given away. Socks and gloves, soap and wash cloths, buckets and mops, furs, a gun, boots and coats both handmade and store bought, and the seals and lush fish outside were all systematically handed out.

An elder told me that this was the modern version of the messenger feast. In the old days they would send a messenger with a good memory to the villages that they would want to invite to their festival. The messenger would bring back requests from the invited groups as to what they needed, and what they hoped the hosts might be able to provide. In this way an item that was abundant in one area could be shared with a group of people where that item was scarce. The giving was reciprocated in future feasts. It seems that community interdependence was and still is an important part of the society.

October 20, 2010

2010-10-20T09:54:00.000-08:00

Interdependence

Written by: Ruth Tong, Intake Specialist, Child and Family Services

Interdependence is a way of life in a village. Most of us are probably aware of how a whaling crew hunts a huge humpback whale and the whole village helps take it to shore, butchers it, and shares with the whole village, thus aiding in the village’s survival.

In my small, northwest Alaska village of Koyuk, we get belugas, usually, the smaller whale. Those are shared with elders and other village members. When I was in Koyuk in 1996 for my mother’s funeral, my sister, Lois, and I were getting ready to catch the plane in late morning to return to Anchorage and Hawaii, where I lived. My cousin, Roy “Peachie” Otton, had just gotten a beluga and was cutting it up on the beach. He gave a chunk of muktuk to Lois. She took it to my brothers’ house and cut it up in very small pieces so it would cook fast. We quickly relished it – my first time eating muktuk for years – then we went up the hill to catch our plane.

After my oldest brother, Billy, passed away in 2005, I learned some things I had not heard while he was living. He used to give money for gas to the children of a man, Sanky Charles, who had lost his wife to an accident, whenever they would go caribou or seal hunting, or berry picking. Billy was always able to get seasonal work in the village, and probably unemployment benefits as well. The Charles children would share the meat or berries with Billy and my brother’s family.

My sister, Lois, was eleven years old and I was five when we left Koyuk to move to Nome. She remembers a lot more than I do about village life. She told me about a woman named Nellie Cook who had come from the states to mine gold near Koyuk. Mrs. Cook lived alone out in the country near our berry and fish camp. As she aged, her arthritis got so bad that she couldn’t pick berries anymore, and she rigged up a stick to her comb so she could groom her hair. There were seven of us kids in my family, so in summer we’d all pick berries for Mrs. Cook. In turn, she’d make up a big batch of doughnuts for us, and let us eat as many as we wanted. That was a real treat! I can imagine my dad and brothers would also help her by chopping wood and hauling water, and very likely fixing any small mechanical item she might have.

Mrs. Cook also taught my mother and some of my aunts how to cook some “western” foods. My mother learned very well, because she was an excellent cook! She may have gotten our sourdough starter from Mrs. Cook, the one she used all through my childhood. After all of us children grew up and finished school in Nome, my parents moved back to Koyuk. Two of my cousins, pilots in Nome, would visit my mother in Koyuk early in the morning about once a month to have her sourdough pancakes and good ole Hills Brothers coffee, the village favorite.

From these few instances, one can see how interdependence is a way of life in Alaska’s villages and even more remote areas.

October 19, 2010

2010-10-19T09:30:00.001-08:00

Interdependence

Written by: Clarice Uttke, MEDIAK Magazine Layout Designer, Education Resource Center

I started out at MEDIAK as a participant. Not knowing the ins and outs of things, I depended on the staff to teach me. I am now able to use my skills I learned to gain employment and venture out for new opportunities. Interdependence can be applied to almost anything. The skills I learned from MEDIAK and their staff is now being applied to my new life.

There’s this saying it takes a village to raise a child. After thinking about this, it proves true in every aspect. Interdependence is closely related with raising kids. Who you choose your kids to be surrounded with and what they watch, results in how they’ll act when they’re older. I depend on many friends and family to watch my son so I don’t have to pay for child care. I also trust them to use their best judgment in what they expose to my child.

I’ve never been to a village or any part of rural Alaska but I can only imagine how it would work. Alaska Natives depend on nature to continue blessing them with food to eat. The same way I depend on friends and family to watch my son.

This is how I experienced the value of interdependence being a new mom and reaching my full potential in 2010.

October 18, 2010

2010-10-18T09:02:00.001-08:00

Interdependence

Written by: Juliana Crandall, CITC Academic Advocate, Begich Middle School

Interdependence in the Native community is something unique. Look at any gathering, funeral, wedding or village. You will see laughter, live, tears, a vibrant community, and individuals relying on each other to live a full life. A tradition that has been carried in our Native communities for generations.

One of the joys of my job is planning and hosting gatherings in the schools. The last gathering I helped with, I saw our interdependence shine. Transitioning from one school to a new one this year, gave me an opportunity to connect with new faces and new smiles.

Our first pipeline gathering was held at Begich Middle School and all four schools were invited, those being Bartlett, Begich, and Susitna & Scenic Park elementary. It took time and manpower to make the basic part of the gathering happen, a collegial effort amongst staff and partners. Our community made the real magic happen, though. Food was shared, dancers and drummers played to fill our hearts and laughter was flowing throughout. In the end, I felt like we all left with something. Although it may have been different for everyone, I felt like something more was shared.

This is my story of interdependence as I saw it at the beginning of the 2010-2011 school year.

October 15, 2010

2010-10-15T08:30:00.000-08:00

Trust

Written by: Dora Boyscout, CITC Academic Advocate, Romig Middle School

Bill was brought to an office across from mine and he sat there quietly. The assistant principal came to my office to inform me that his mom was in his office quite upset. He asked if Bill could sit in my office while he brought mom back to talk with her son.

Things didn’t go too well between the two but I passed no judgment towards the mother as I sat and listened. After a few words spoken to Bill by mom, we sent Bill out to the other office as I listened to mom. Mom was quite upset as she sat and told me about her family and her life. I sat there and listened to her. Once she vented, things settled down with her and I let her know that I would do everything I can to support her and her endeavor to raise her son.

So, my connection with mom began. She put so much trust in me that whatever I said or did, she went with. When speaking with teachers, I was there too, because I was the one who understood her and I could explain to the teachers what was going on.

Several years passed and I was moved to another school. As the school year began, the principal brought me to his office to speak to me about a parent who was just irate. They had a hard time understanding why this parent was so angry with everyone. When he gave me the name, I told him that I knew this parent and that I would advocate to both the parent and the school. The look on his face was of much relief. From there on, I was the main person to contact from both sides. When meetings were in order, I explained and advocated for the parent. When setting up meetings I advocated for the teachers as well. I made sure to tell both sides that I would be there to support both sides.

When trust is established between the school and the community, things go well between the two. This story is an example of how two communities, a parent who wants to be understood and a school who couldn’t understand, came together when trust was put on one person. Trust is one of the most important values a person can bring. We should all strive to give trust to those around us.

October 14, 2010

2010-10-14T08:39:00.001-08:00

Trust

Written by: Judy Voisine, CITC Reading Teacher, Willow Crest Elementary School

“I don’t want to do this!” yelled Gabe. It was November and I had just assigned a regrouping worksheet to my Alakanuk 2nd grade classroom. I realized that what Gabe lacked was even more crucial to our relationship than his non-ability to rename tens and ones. Gabe did not trust that I would ensure a successful outcome for his journey through learning regrouping! Unfortunately, Gabe was used to people getting frustrated with his academic struggles and giving up on him. I did a quick “mental rewind.” Had I also been guilty?

I approached Gabe’s desk and knelt to bring my face to his eye level. His arms were crossed tightly over his chest and his scowl was profound. Keeping my voice low, I reminded him about the science experiment on evaporation he’d struggled with. Did he remember how his ice cubes had melted before beginning the experiment and how we’d gone out on the school porch and chipped ice to use instead? The scowl lessened. I reminded him of last week’s story that had seemed impossible to read on Monday, but that he breezed through on Friday. He smiled. He had really liked that story.

“Gabe,” I said, “I know this is really hard right now, but I know you can learn to do this. Lots and lots of kids have had trouble with this before. They’ve all learned how, and you will too. I won’t stop helping you until you do. I promise!” Over the next few days I worked with Gabe on this concept whenever time allowed. Eventually, Gabe did learn, and became so proficient that I asked him to help his peers learn how also. Explaining the process to others cemented his learning, but even more importantly, boosted his self-esteem. “I’ll help you. I promise!” I heard him proudly proclaim on occasion.

Eventually, Gabe’s outbursts became less frequent and vehement. He still demonstrated frustration, but trusted that I would support him and wouldn’t let him fail.

I hope this story demonstrates how I gained the trust of a youngster on the Yukon Delta!

October 13, 2010

2010-10-12T16:40:00.000-08:00

Trust

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

(The names and Native Group have been changed or eliminated to respect the privacy of the individual in this story).

I heard the noise in the hallway as Jay came charging into our CITC Learning Center. He threw his coat on the floor, stomped his feet on his way across the room, and slammed himself into a chair screaming, “I hate that teacher; I’m never going back to that classroom again; I want to stay here forever!

There was more stomping with disturbing sounds, hitting the table and grumbling while I cautiously observed from the other side of the room – the only person with him.

Jay and I had a long history – I met him as a third grader who loved coming to CITC from the beginning! He was a sweet, compliant child who spent his younger years in a small village. His Mother and Papa were frustrated because Jay was falling behind in school, but his absences were keeping him from being referred for Special assistance.

Though very far behind his classmates, Jay loved to read and looked forward to reading all manner of word lists, playing learning games, and having me read to him. By the end of third grade he qualified for Special Education assistance and he thrived during this extra “special” time with people he trusted.

In fourth grade, Jay’s life fell apart. Three cherished relatives passed away in close succession and he spent the beginning of quite a few days in our room sobbing uncontrollably. When he wanted a hug for comfort, he hovered over me as a very tall, lanky boy – dwarfing me!

Fourth grade was also when he was not treated with respect by his classroom teacher. He retreated to our room more frequently and his attitude would change as he walked through the door. His trust was in the “arms” of our CITC staff.

Jay’s “blow-up” was in fifth grade – Jay was intelligent with processing problems; he knew what he didn’t know, and was frustrated by the time spent in his homeroom. The second week of school is when the big incident occurred and he continued to escalate over the next few weeks.

We resolved some of his issues with collaboration between the classroom teacher and the principal. When Jay felt he was going to “lose it,” he would ask to come to CITC and he usually just sat and defused himself. He would let us know when he was ready to talk, then we would send him back to his classroom with a smile when the crisis was over.

After Christmas, Jay went back to his village because he felt he no longer had friends and he needed to get away.

In sixth grade, Jay returned as if he were a different child. His family had gotten medical attention for him and he came back from Middle School to visit us often. He would always leave with a hug saying “This is my safe place – sometimes you are the only friends I trust.”

His People assisted him with getting the assistance he needed; Jay’s family worked in Partnership with the school; and, Jay is now realizing the Potential he has after many false starts.

This is my story of the way it happened to me when one student learned to Trust because of help and support from his family and his school.

October 12, 2010

2010-10-11T16:32:00.001-08:00

Trust

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

It was a slow afternoon at the mall as I was working my second job at the Santa set. I sat under-stimulated at the cash register with my little elf hat on, staring blankly at the blinking lights on Santa’s sleigh. Santa waving in the background did not even wake me from my daze of deep thought about the holidays and how tired I was. Suddenly, from behind, I heard “Mrs. Mosquito?” Darn! Another student knows I work at the Santa booth. When I turned smiling, I was surprised to see not just one of my most brilliant (yet underachieving) students, but his mom as well. “This is my mom Mrs. Mosquito,” John said to me, as proud as could be. I introduced myself and shook her hand. She asked if I was exhausted working two jobs, and I tried my best not to sound whiny and dismissed it with a chuckle as “doing what I have to do to keep the mouths at home fed”.

She confided in me that she also worked two jobs and as she was the only parent at home, she rarely got to see her boys. She explained that because she wasn’t home in the evenings, her son was not getting his homework done (and therefore failing) and she didn’t know what to do about it. I reassured her that I was not passing judgment at all, and we could definitely meet to talk about it if she would just come in to meet with the team at school, as Santa’s set was probably not the best spot. After all, this was a parent we had tried to call and invite in for months. She agreed on the following week.

The next week, I began preparing for the afternoon John’s mom was coming in to meet. I looked at John’s history of test scores and grades. He was (as I already new) brilliant, with highly gifted test scores. However, he just showed no effort at school. This was the best possible scenario. This meeting would be great, and how happy the team would be that I found a way to get mom in. Everything was perfect! Until mom dropped by a day earlier than we’d planned. She said that she couldn’t keep our original meeting date and just thought she’d drop by to talk to me. Stunned, I was able to be the flexible teacher I was taught to be and continue with the meeting as planned, hoping that my disappointment that the team wasn’t there wouldn’t show.

I showed her the test scores, explained what they meant, suggested reasons that I thought John might not be performing to his ability and suggested resources to help. It was standard formula stuff. Mom was elated! She said that she had thought no one could see how bright her boy was because she only got calls for complaint. She immediately turned to her son to inform him that negligence on his behalf would no longer be accepted now that she had proof he could do better.

I almost teared up as she explained to him in front of me how she didn’t want him to ever have to work as hard or have as limited options as she had in her adult life. She warned that all of her suffering had been a direct result of not going to school. It was surreal to see the look on his face, as I knew he was listening to her in a way he never heard me or any other teacher. She then thanked me for the meeting and the great news, and as she walked toward the door she said, “I knew when I met you at the mall, you would not tell me only bad things about my boy. That is why I only wanted to meet with you and not the other teachers. Thank you.”

And that is my experience with trust and working with the students for CITC.

October 11, 2010

2010-10-11T08:51:00.001-08:00

Trust
Written by: Missy Gumlickpuk, Student Support Advocate, Education Resource Center/Begich Middle School

I grew up in a small remote village on the Nushagak River. The population was always around 500 or so, and everyone knew everyone. I remember a girl, and her name was Jenny. She achieved both academically and athletically. In junior high she was golden; captain of the Jr. High basketball team and a straight A student. She got a lot of praise, which boosted her ego even more. High school came, she was a freshman and was excited to travel and participate even more in sports. Her basketball and volleyball coach was not only her mentor but also her role model. Jenny was fascinated that her coach played college volleyball and wanted the same dream only it was for basketball. She had a great year! The year ended with her receiving awards such as “Female Athlete of the Year” and “Outstanding Student.”

Summer came and she vowed to herself and her coach that she would stay in shape. Midway through the summer, she met a girl that was a total opposite. The girl’s name was Kathy. She was older and bossy. They would hangout and stay up late, and Jenny would sleep all day waking up with no energy to exercise. At that point she totally stopped! Her coach came back for another school year and was excited to begin volleyball. At the practices she noticed that Jenny wasn’t giving her best, stopped talking to her and would not show up every once in a while. So she decided to have a serious chat with Jenny after practice one day.

The coach reinforced how much talent and drive Jenny had, how she can dominate not only in school but also on the court, how she can be a great role model for all the little girls, and that she believed in her. At that moment, Jenny saw in her coach’s eyes, trust. After that day, Jenny remembered to always trust herself. She realized the truth, that if she pushed herself and believed in herself she can be anything she wanted.

Trust is a very important Alaska Native value. Always trust yourself, family, community, and never let anyone or anything come into your way of achieving your goals.

October 8, 2010

2010-10-08T10:53:00.000-08:00

Roots

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

I grew up thinking I was full Iñupiaq. I knew my maternal grandmother spoke Unaliq, a dialect of Yup’ik from the village of Elim, to the west of Koyuk, where I was born. My father told me he was Malemuit, part of an Iñupiat contingent from the Kotzebue area who had migrated to the southern Seward Peninsula. I always heard my mother speak fluent Unaliq with her first cousin, Elsie Nelson Ball, who was half Norwegian and half “Eskimo.” I later learned Elsie grew up with her grandparents in Elim. My mother would switch to speaking Iñupiaq with my father. She spent five months in the Kotzebue hospital when I was a baby, so she picked up the Kotzebue or “up north” Iñupiaq dialect as well.

About 2007, my cousin, Iris Magnell, a niece of Elsie Ball, completed a very thorough and impressive family tree of our great-grandparents forward. My older sister also told me our maternal grandmother was Yup’ik from the St. Michael area. From Iris’ family tree, I learned that our great-grandmother, Aukbayuk, was Iñupiaq from the Kotzebue area, and she married Otton, who was Yup’ik.

So, recently I figured I am 3/8 Yup’ik and 5/8 Iñupiaq – still mostly Iñupiaq, but not at all full!

In regard to languages, I remember listening to a documentary made in northern Canada when I was in my early 20s, and I could understand most of the Inuit. And, one year, some Greenlanders came to Anchorage to speak to us in their language, and I understood them too. That was such a revelation to me.

In 2004, I traveled to Kodiak and looked at one of their tourist booklets. On one page, they listed 16 Aleut words, and 11 of them were familiar to me from my Iñupiaq and Yup’ik background. Later still, I looked up an internet site of the Aliotors, indigenous people from the Siberian side close to the Aleutian Islands. One of their publications was called “Wankuta Maani,” which in Yup’ik means “we here.” Because of my Yup’ik/Iñupiaq background, I also understand some of the Siberian Yup’ik spoken on St. Lawrence Island and their relatives in Siberia.

It’s all been a very exciting journey in understanding myself, my forebears, and the larger world of the Northern peoples.

My mother used to say, “I’m not just bi-lingual, I’m multi-lingual!” On a lighter note, I once played internet Scrabble with a lady from the United Kingdom. When we chatted, I asked if she spoke other languages besides English; she said no. I told her I knew a little Iñupiaq, Yup’ik, and a few Aleut words, and that I also mastered the English language. When I beat her in the Scrabble game, I told her to tell people she was beaten by an Eskimo.

October 7, 2010

2010-10-07T13:17:00.006-08:00

Roots

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

As I recall the trip was going very well. We had made great progress on the shelter in the first two days. The first day of fishing was fun for the boys but in my mind, it was incomplete. We had gotten a variety of cod and rockfish but not many Halibut. I had tried to get them to a great spot but the weather and tide conspired to keep us away. We decided to make a push to try to get to there for the last day but there was a lot of work to do. There were a lot of logistics to make it there by the 10 am slack tide. There was also the problem of weather. It would probably get rough at that spot right after the tide, too rough to be comfortable or with enough safety margin.

The boys working on the gravel pad and shelter

AJ and Devin cleaning the first day's catch

The next problem was that for a while I was the only one doing the work for getting ready. I could understand, we were all tired and it was already getting late. It wasn’t until I called a fireside chat to explain that our fishing success was connected to perhaps unexpected things. Wind, time, tides and the many chores of preparation the night before would be important. It was also very important that we work together to get this all done, otherwise the whole thing would fall apart.

While I was trying to illustrate connections for the boys I was impressed by the connections and questions that I was seeing as a teacher. Wasn’t this the skill that they needed to keep from being stuck in school and therefore shouldn’t we be doing more of this kind of thing at school? Was Devin’s understanding of time and tide better because of his cultural roots in Kodiak? Was AJ’s understanding of cooperation sharp because of his connections to the Kuskokwim? Would this experience help in school-related goals and objectives? The most immediate question was would the boys pull it together enough to allow for the journey in the morning? Would we then find the Halibut?

Answer:

We did make it to that hot fishing spot and the boys caught the limit in about 6 minutes.

AJ is shown above with his largest fish and right after we got the last fish aboard the weather got bad and we had to leave. On the four hour drive to go home, they related this experience to their experience of life in the village and it seemed that everyone that hears the story could relate to the values of hard work and cooperation. The next year in school both boys reported that the experience helped, in fact Devin took Chemistry the next year and did very well.

Both young men did such a good job and had so much fun, that they proposed to continue by forming a club. The idea would for a group of students to work hard on their schoolwork and to plan a larger trip. This is an idea we are still working on here at Bartlett.

October 6, 2010

2010-10-05T16:59:00.000-08:00

Roots

Written by: Dick Thompson, Assistant Program Manager, Educational Services

The colors of the Kenai were shades of green and the wind was blowing upstream. The sun was shining and so was I as I finally got to take my granddaughter fishing on my river and share stories and memories of how much fun our family has had camping, fishing, and enjoying nature in Alaska.

The fish struck, Emily yelled, and the fight was on. The most beautiful rainbow jumped and splashed and Emily hung on for her life. After what seemed like an eternity, she landed the fish with grandpa’s help. Leaving the fish in the water, we took pictures and quietly released the fish. Emily wanted to keep her catch but grandpa says, “Put them back for future generations and let your children enjoy the art and joy of fly fishing.”

This is a true cultural value of Alaskans and especially Alaska Native people, as well as environmentalists who love nature. Emily released her next catch, turned and gave me a wonderful smile…a lesson well learned.

October 5, 2010

2010-10-05T09:18:00.001-08:00

Roots

Written by: Stephanie Rogers, Data & Grants Compliance, Educational Services

We moved quietly through the house not turning on any lights. We grabbed our clothes, coffee and toast. There were no complaints even though it was 3:30 a.m. It was time to fish. It was summer in Naknek, AK.

We loaded the truck and the four wheelers and headed towards the beach. Traveling down the road each and every time was a treat for me. Everyone waved! Everyone knew who we were, where we were from and what family we fished with. This wasn’t odd. It is quite normal for other families and community members to know more about you than yourself. I was still a bit of an outsider, but accepted nonetheless as part of the Monsen family. I kind of giggle now thinking back; it almost felt like being famous.

I loved the summers I spent in Naknek. In the village, heritage seemed more revered than it did in the city. Every person in the village was important and had a purpose no matter how young or old. Everyone originated from Naknek, or from somewhere very near. In the city, it seemed that everyone originated from somewhere else.

Don’t get me wrong. I had a family with history, culture and lineage, but it wasn’t the same. Here I could smell the sea, touch the sandy beach and see what others had seen decades before. In Anchorage, I had family. Naknek’s families, had roots. I have carried this important lesson with me since the summer of 1985.

October 4, 2010

2010-10-04T12:15:00.001-08:00

Roots

Written by: William Wallner, Operations Coordinator, Educational Services

Born and raised in Anchorage, I always felt that I was truly diverse. Knowing at a young age and being proud of the fact that I was Alaska Native and having roots to the wider world gave me a bigger perspective on life. My mother from Barrow who was raised in the Iñupiaq culture, and my father from Anchorage, I always thought that I had the best of both worlds. Raised in a close-knit family, you come to appreciate the smaller things in life you share with your family. Whether it be a small BBQ, birthday party or a bicycle trip to an aunt’s house, I was always taught to be appreciative of the family I had.

As I grew older, I discovered more and more where my family hailed from. A fun fact I learned through my own research and speaking to family members was that my paternal great great-grandfather was originally from Bavaria, Germany and had sailed to Ellis Island with his family to start a new life in America. Another paternal great great-grandfather from Moscow and another from Ireland added to my interest in knowing where my roots originated. A worldly view grew even larger than the state of Alaska from which my parents lived all their lives.

Now, having two nephews adds to sharing such a proud value. Having pride in family and where you come from, can be one of the best gifts you can share. If it wasn’t for having a close-knit family and appreciating being together, I don’t believe this value could have become what it has flourished into today: A sense of belonging and respect for diversity and love for family.

This is a story about my roots and how they play a big role in my life growing up in Anchorage, Alaska.

October 1, 2010

2010-09-30T16:49:00.000-08:00

Sharing

Written by: Doug Herron, PE Teacher, Bartlett High School

Every fall it is a tradition in our family to go moose hunting. This has been a tradition since I can remember. Fall time for my family was about hunting and gathering and sharing what we found with family and friends.

It was fall time and I was 12 years old. I had been anxiously awaiting the beginning of moose season and getting to go on my first “real” moose hunt where for the first time, I was going to an area where there was a very good chance we would find moose, but more importantly, I was going as a hunter, not a trainee. I had been practicing my hunting skills for years now and worked diligently on my marksmanship and gun safety and was finally ready to put it all to the test.

My father and I traveled many miles up river and made our camp. We glassed for hours each evening and motored up river in the mornings floating back down to camp looking for moose. It was towards the end of our hunt that I was losing hope. I had been counting down this hunt for three years and couldn’t wait to get my first moose. It was a right of passage. We decided to break camp and move downriver. The plan was to break camp before dark and then float a section of river my father knew held moose in the past. I was getting excited again. As we floated, I began to fall asleep.

The only thing I remember after that was getting a tap on my shoulder from my father and him saying to me, “Moose on the river”. I quickly woke up from my deep slumber, rubbed my eyes and couldn’t believe it. Just like my father had told me, “Be patient and quiet and we will find a moose on the river”.

There stood a bull moose, about 100 yards on the other side of the river just standing there trying to figure out what we were. It wasn’t long after that, that I remember standing over my very first moose and thinking to myself that I had finally done it. I will be bringing moose home for my family. I was very proud. We took care of the meat and headed back to the cabin. I couldn’t wait to tell my mom, who was anxiously waiting for the news. My mom had grown accustomed to me bringing home fish and small game just about every time that I went out. I knew that she would be proud. I was equally excited to be eating moose steaks from my very first moose.

Upon returning home, I was welcomed back by my mother who was very excited and proud of me. She was so happy that I had my first moose. We hung the meat and I was sharing my stories with my family. It was soon after that when my mom told me what I was supposed to do. Keep in mind that this was my first moose and I was so excited to be eating meat from my first hunt. And very proud that I was now a hunter. She informed me that she had already called many family members, elders and others who were unable to hunt themselves that I had brought home a moose and that I would be sharing it with them all. Where my mom came from it was a tradition to share ALL of your first animal with family and friends and especially with those who were less fortunate. She also told me that it would bring good luck to me and my family in the future.

In the best way that I could at 12 years old, I reluctantly agreed and it wasn’t long after when my mom shared with me how happy those who enjoyed the fresh meat were that I realized that sharing and providing moose for others had made me very proud. I have been fortunate throughout my years to enjoy many successful hunts and I attribute that to sharing my very first moose and many more after that.

September 30, 2010

2010-09-30T10:57:00.000-08:00

Sharing

Written by: Dave Voisine, Reading Teacher, Willow Crest Elementary

The morning started out like any other morning in my 5th grade classroom, except for this pungent odor that stung my nostrils. After clearing my head, I asked the class if they knew where it was coming from. They identified the culprit. Jack, our class “gentle giant” sat in his seat, trying desperately to blend into the classroom and his surroundings.

Life in a western Alaskan Yup’ik Eskimo village in the middle of winter is very dark until 10 or 11 o’clock in the morning. Apparently, while leaving his house, Jack had accidentally stepped into a bucket of seal oil. To my western nose, seal oil odor was like skunk spray on steroids. Jack had proceeded to school without giving it a second thought. Once he was in the closed, contained air space of the classroom, the odor permeated every nook and cranny. I gruffly asked him to put his boots outside on the porch so we could all survive the morning, especially me! Jack politely followed my request.

After completing our morning activities, it was time for lunch. Since my classroom was about a quarter of a mile from the high school where we ate lunch, we had to get dressed for the weather outside in the dead of winter. Upon getting ready for our trek, there was a commotion with the students getting ready. When asked what was going on, all (except Jack!) replied that one of Jack’s boots was missing. I began to investigate the situation. There were paw prints leading away from the classroom, leading me to believe that the missing boot was taken by a dog hoping for a tasty meal.

Feelings of guilt and remorse overwhelmed me and I struggled to find a way to remedy this awkward (but humorous!) situation. I then remembered that I had a brand new set of boots at home. It just so happened that Jack’s boot size was the same as mine – 10 ½. While my aide monitored the class, I rushed next door to my teacher housing to retrieve my new boots. Jack put them on and we finally headed to lunch. I felt so awful about the incident that I told him he could keep the new boots.

Everything was fine again in the land of ice and snow – until the next morning. Jack arrived at school with a well-worn pair of tennis shoes. Disappointed, I asked him what happened to the new set of boots I had just given him. He replied, “Dad liked them so much, I gave them to him!”

This incident, which happened in Emmonak in the early 1980’s demonstrates the Yup’ik value of sharing with one another.

(Author’s note: During the following fall, I noticed a single boot near the boardwalk to my classroom. Eventually, I realized this was Jack’s lost boot, returned after the spring floods!)

September 28, 2010

2010-09-27T16:31:00.001-08:00

Sharing

Written by: Michael Jerue, Student Support Advocate, Education Resource Center

Fish camp starts for us the fist week of June. My Uncle Charlie and I take an 18 passenger airplane to Anvik from Anchorage, takes about an hour and ten minutes. We then take a Navajo airplane (which is the mail plane) and fly 20 minutes to Holy Cross. We are met by millions and billions of mosquito’s and a relative that takes us to our Cache in their pick up. The cache is about the size of a one car garage. It has electricity for our freezer and all the supplies for fish camp. We don’t keep anything at fish camp, when we are in Anchorage, because people seem to break-in and take stuff.

We have two boats, one is the fishing boat and the other is the traveling boat. The boats are stored upside down in Holy Cross next to the Cache. They are stored upside down so they won’t float away in case of a flood; also the kids don’t play in them. Our fist job is to get the boats ready to be launched. At the end of the fishing season every year we take out the oil out of our kickers (outboard motors) so they don’t freeze in the 50 below weather, we change the oil and clean the kickers every summer. We pack all of our bedding, kitchen tools, food and everything else we need for the summer into the boats.

We haul the boats to the Yukon River to be launched, and then drive them up river 7 miles to our family fish camp. The first thing Charlie and I do is look for bear tracks. If there are any we check to see if they are fresh. When we know that it is safe we can clean the house so we can unload the boats. We go back to Holy Cross for two more boat loads. Our next job is to cut the grass with a weed eater, the grass can be 4-5 feet high, this is wear the mosquito’s live so it’s very important to cut the grass. Next, we clean the smoke house and out house. Then Charlie and I put the cutting table together.

For the first two days Charlie and I are eating can food, spaghetti (yum) and beef stew. Then we can enjoy some rod and reel fishing or duck/goose hunting for our home cook meals.

It takes about five days for the fish (King Salmon) to reach our fish camp from St. Michaels. When we hear the fish are at St. Michael’s we send for the cutters. The cutters are the girls (Betty, Nancy, grandma and anyone that wants to go from our family) back in Anchorage. They always arrive two days before the fish. Charlie and I pick them up from Holy Cross. Than our fishing season begins.

When we moved to Anchorage in 1958 my grandpa said we will always go back to Holy Cross to get our native food. He did that by opening up a savings account for fishing. The very first year we sold our fish strips to people in Anchorage. The money in the fishing account buys our food, plane tickets and kickers for our family to go back every year.

September 27, 2010

2010-09-24T16:37:00.001-08:00

Sharing

Written by: Dustin Madden, Science Teacher, Bartlett High School

(Note: the name has been changed to protect the identity of the person in this story)

Melford. Someone reading an old National Geographic article about Alaska Natives definitely wouldn’t picture this guy in their head: he’s about 6 feet tall, has skin the color of a Saltine, and is often downright boisterous. Yet when you catch him in his quiet moments—between the parties, between the competitive softball games, between the dirty jokes told amongst friends—when you see him outside of the context of the Nome social structure, his Yup’ik heritage and values often shine through.

In October of 2005, I went to Nome to spend time with my family. I walked off the plane a different person than when I had originally left my home five years prior to attend college in California. I had entered the Land of the Midnight Sun at the tail end of its brilliance, and my memories of the many winters I had spent there during my youth had faded as surely as daylight in the fall. Though I wasn’t planning on it, I would end up spending my first winter at home since I was eighteen.

Winter in Nome was hard on me—after living in the year-round sunshine of California, immersing myself in the dynamic intellectual and social life of a university campus, and after having traveled all over the United States and several countries, spending winter at home felt foreign to me. The darkness and the cold that I had barely noticed growing up began to feel stifling, like the heavy blankets I heaped upon myself at night. The lack of stimulation felt as real to me as the icy winds, finding the uncovered portions of me and whisking away my energy.

During one of these blustery Nome days I was walking the streets with Melford. When we passed under the glow cast by the streetlight, I noticed he had on a pair of beautiful sealskin mittens. They were well crafted, down to the wolverine fur trim—a design perfected through hundreds of years of R & D by the First Alaskans. I couldn’t help but to openly admire them. I asked Melford where he had gotten the mittens, and he replied that he had made them. I was shocked; I’ve known Melford since I was in the fifth grade, and I had never seen him make anything before, much less a pair of mittens such as these.

Then suddenly my ogling was interrupted-- Melford offered the mittens to me. At first I didn’t think he was serious, so I declined to take them. Yet he persisted. I think he must have sensed the winter-time funk that I was in, because he was so sincere in wanting me to have them that I finally had no choice other than to accept the mittens. I thought of all of the time and effort he must have put into making them. Scraping the seal hide, sending it in to get tanned, cutting, sewing; it would have taken him weeks to make this first pair. Contrasting this effort with the ease with which Melford gave away the mittens really made an impact on me; this single act of kindness pierced through my funk and reminded me that though Nome has its problems, I can learn a lot from the traditional values practiced by some of its people.

This is a story about the cultural value of sharing as I experienced it in Nome, Alaska in 2005.

September 24, 2010

2010-09-23T16:56:00.001-08:00

Patience

Written by: Shannon Keegan, Chemistry Teacher, Bartlett High School

In 1994, I joined the Peace Corps and was sent to Cameroon in West Africa. I was fully prepared to immerse myself in the local culture and thought that all I needed was the will and the desire and everything would come naturally. Not everything did. I quickly discovered that I didn’t have a knack for learning a new language.

I went through 3 months of training and lived with a local family who spoke only French. Learning usually came easy for me but this did not. My progress was so slow that I was told I might be removed from the program and sent home. The pressure to learn French was intense but the harder I tried the more futile my efforts became. It just didn’t happen.

Then several months into this experience, after very little headway, I woke up one morning and realized that I had been dreaming in French. Even better, I understood what was being said in this dream. For the first time I was not translating everything into French, I was actually thinking in it.

On that day the flood gates opened and I became fluent enough to get by. I graduated from training and was honored as most improved language learner. Then I was sent to live in the English-speaking region of the country where I rarely needed French again.

I remind myself of this experience when I am teaching students a new concept. Sometimes things don’t come quickly or as easily as we wish and it may take more than one try to understand. In the case of learning French, my brain took its own time working through this new experience and when it was ready, I got it.

There was a saying in Cameroon that still sticks with me. “Softly, softly, catch monkey. Hurry, hurry, break trouser.” Whether it’s learning a new skill or trying to reach a personal goal, we need to remember to have patience with ourselves.

This is a story about patience as I experienced it in the 1990’s in West Africa.

September 23, 2010

2010-09-23T09:31:00.000-08:00

Patience

Written by: Ellen Kennedy, Language Arts Teacher, Bartlett High School

Larry was very suspicious of the CITC program (then called TREE—Together Reaching Educational Excellence) when we first opened at Bartlett in 2001. No one had ever shown him any particular attention at school as he remembered it. Why him? Why Native kids? Why now? The first semester he came late almost every day. Our Family Advocate worked with his mom and we worked with him to show him we were on his side.

The next spring he was a member of a Research Writing class, and he was doing a paper on modifications to stock cars to make them into street racers. One morning he came over with a folder of writing and pictures. “I’d like to show you this,” he said, sitting down beside me.

For the next twenty minutes, he showed me picture after picture as he talked enthusiastically about what he had discovered about changing regular cars into racers. When he was finished, I told him I was really proud that he had found so much and was doing so well. He smiled and walked away.

Then it hit me! He was sharing with me—unasked!

This is how I remember being rewarded for patience with my students at Bartlett in 2002.

September 21, 2010

2010-09-20T16:50:00.000-08:00

Patience

Written by: Alice Metz, Teacher/Tutor, Education Resource Center

She was living with her Aunt and Uncle for two years, while her father was hospitalized in Tacoma, Washington. She learned to adapt living with her relatives. The relatives were like a replacement of her missing parent. At a very young age, it seemed hard to remember what was going on. The highlights are: She is well taken care of, learning responsibilities and most of all learn to share, love, and respect.

Then, a few years past and her father remarried and regained a few more siblings from the wife’s side. Having learned to share, love, and respect from a previous foster family, this arena was different. Why was it different? She was treated like an outsider from the rest of the siblings by her stepmother. The living was harder when her father was away.

So, during the fall when her father goes winter camping for fur trapping, she lived with her Uncle on the father’s side. For two and half months while her father was gone, she learned many cultural teachings from her Aunt. In summer months when the cannery opened for fishing, her father would go and she would stay with her other Uncle on her former mother’s side. During the summer months she also learned more cultural teachings from her other Aunt. The father was absent from the family so that they could survive during winter months from the money earned in the fall and summer season.

What has my story taught me toward my students? The first day of school I present myself as a professional teacher, but along the line I make myself known that I practice my Native culture and make them aware that I am their missing parents, grandparents, aunt, or uncle.

Having patience with a student(s) takes an understanding of where the student is coming from. Every student has a different lifestyle at home. Get to know your students and treat each individual equally. The student(s) are waiting for an opportunity for you to open up to them and they will talk to you. From there, respect and trust will form gradually.

September 20, 2010

2010-09-20T08:41:00.001-08:00

Patience

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

I gently lugged the 72-pound toolbox onto the scale and draped my arm over the 5’x5’ box at my side to steady it. The ticket agent tapped away at her keyboard, four bags, all over weight. I shoved another toolbox, a pack, and a duffel bag toward the scale. This is my carry-on. I rocked the box at my side, a 4-foot satellite dish and mounting arms. The agent looked up from the monitor and over glasses she wasn’t wearing. She was not amused.

Nor was I amused, sweaty and disheveled within an hour of showering, my ball cap not to be straight again for at least a week, first in line before even the first tour bus at 5:00 in the morning. My only semi-reliable traveling partner had not arrived at the airport yet, and I had found the tools he had stowed at the warehouse scattered, unpacked and lacking consumables that had all been used the prior week. It would have been fine by me if Dexter missed the flight. He had a way of offending people with disparaging comments about their community and culture within seconds of stepping off the plane, and I would have been just as happy to not have that as a dynamic of this trip, our fifteenth in a circuit of thirty-plus trips we would take that summer to rural Alaska communities.

The agent handed me my boarding pass, and I wandered to the gate. Dexter arrived as the plane was half boarded, looking lost as his platinum blond mullet flapped twenty years out of date down the concourse behind him. When the plane arrived in Bethel our dish was carried in by the ramp agents, and our toolboxes and duffles carouseled in with other like baggage: toolboxes, coolers, fish totes, and the occasional suitcase.

“Well what are we gonna do now?” Dexter demanded. The day before when it had occurred to everyone at the office that even unpacked we wouldn’t be able to get the dish into the door of a Cessna, we had called an arranged for a local employee in Kwethluk to come ferry us by boat from Bethel. That still left us a cab ride from the town dock, none with adequate roof area for us to go screaming down the Eddie Hoffman Highway without losing the dish to the frost heaves.

I walked down the taxi stand to a light blue Suburban with Kusko Cab stenciled awkwardly on the door. “Say, how wide do those ambulance doors in back open?” The driver stepped out. Not wide enough by a long shot, but we cobbled together a webbing of frayed tow straps and bungee cords and went bounding down the rippled asphalt, driver and each passenger with a hand out the window to steady the load.

I paid the driver, and he left our gear on the boat ramp, an unpaved, dusty slope leading into the Kuskokwim River. Empty soda bottles swirled in the eddy. There was surprisingly little traffic for such a fair, warm summer morning. I opened my duffel bag and produced my life jacket. Dexter’s eyes widened, “Were we supposed to bring life jackets?”

I shrugged and tossed it into the dirt at my feet. I arranged the other gear out of my way and sat down. I folded the panels of the jacket over each other and arranged it behind me. Next I pulled my parka out and draped it over my shoulders and torso. Dexter’s eyes widened more. “What are you doing?”

“Getting comfortable. I was up at 4 to sort the tools you didn’t put away when we got back Friday. I called from the airport. He’ll be an hour or better.” I flopped the hood over my head to keep the sun out of my eyes.

Some time later, I heard shuffling about my head and cracked one eye to see Dexter, life jacket a size too small hiked up into his armpits, loading the last of the gear into a skiff pulled up in the dirt. I rolled over to see Yogi towering over me in all of his four feet and eleven inches. He spoke almost no English, but his face was wide with a grin, and his belly shook a little as he chuckled at the “gussuck” asleep in the dirt. He helped me up and pointed to the boat. I made my way to one of the aluminum benches and sat, leaning forward on my knees and rubbing the longest nap I’d take for a out of my eyes. Yogi handed me a chunk of dry fish and his thermos cup full of coffee, slid the boat back into the river and motored away. As we turned the corner away from Bethel, I watched two swans patrolling back and forth in front of the bank and leaned slightly as Yogi steered to the side of the channel. The day was finally truly under way, more smoothly and a little more rested than I had envisioned when we left Anchorage. I leaned back with another piece of fish and enjoyed breakfast as we motored away up to Kwethluk.

This is a story about patience with circumstances as I experienced it in the YK in the summer of 2001.

September 17, 2010

2010-09-17T08:41:00.001-08:00

Respect for Nature

Written by: Richard Larochelle, Math & Science Teacher, Bartlett High School

It was a late autumn Sunday; I went out boating on the Bering Sea with my family about ten miles from the village of Kotlik. A new school year had already started so our hunting days were limited. The weather was sunny and calm, perfect for seal hunting. In the late afternoon we saw a fleet of about 10 boats filled with families hunting a bearded seal. We joined in the hunting. Because we are at the mouth of the Yukon River, the water was fresh, not salty like the ocean. The village people still use spears and harpoons to seal hunt. This method ensures that the seal will not sink. After the seal is speared/harpooned it unravels and is a guide for us to “chase” the seal and capture it.

I had my wife Cami drive the boat, and our 8 year old son Kevin at the bow of the boat with a harpoon. I gave directions to Cami as we followed the wake of the seal. Each time the seal surfaced for air, the hunters yelled, “hey-heeey!” to scare the seal and take shorter breathes. It also let others know where the seal was. We were into the hunt for about a half an hour as we followed its wake. I encouraged Kevin to prepare to harpoon the seal. It surfaced and Kevin harpooned the seal!

Because it was Kevin’s first seal catch, the whole fleet cheered and congratulated him. Cami screamed in celebration and did some Eskimo dance motions. We brought the seal to the riverbank, gutted and cleaned it. My brother-in law advised me to cut off the head, give it a drink of water then throw it back into the sea. This age old Yup’ik ritual demonstrates respect and thankfulness for the seal giving itself to us. It is also believed that more seals will return in the next hunting season.

When we arrived in Kotlik, we stored the seal in my mother in-law’s smoke house. We explained that we would butcher it on Monday after school. Monday, Cami and I went to the smoke house to work on the seal, but found that mom butchered it earlier in the day. She explained that Kevin would have to do his first Eskimo dance in the spring and the seal needed to be distributed to our sister village of Stebbins during the potlatch.

Doing the dance was an “induction” for Kevin as a provider for relatives. This tradition reinforces the Yup’ik cultural values of respect for nature and celebration of a boy providing for a village.

September 16, 2010

2010-09-16T08:32:00.004-08:00

Respect for Nature

Written by: Karen Zaukar, Student Media Mentor, Education Resource Center-MEDIAK

Respecting Nature is one very important Native Value. Most people believe that if you respect and appreciate nature and your surroundings, that you will be able to keep seeing such things. For example: Subsistence hunting/living, you kill animals such as Moose, Fish, Caribou, Ptarmigan and so on. If you kill the animal for food to survive, you would thank the animal for giving it's life to save yours. Since you thanked the animal, and appreciate what the animal has done to you and your family, then by the next hunt or even the next year, there will be more animals to come and give their life.

For me I am a little different, I do not hunt animals, I only go fishing once in a while. I am also a semi-vegetarian, so I only eat poultry, sea food, eggs, and dairy products. I don't like the idea of killing animals to consume when there are alternate ways to get all the nutrients. I think that it's killing an innocent animal for only your benefit, but I can’t stop eating meat all at once. As of right now, I have taken out the big animals from my diet, and it is almost much healthier. Since I buy food from the store, I get whatever I feel like eating, and when I want it, I cook it. But once I'm done and getting ready to eat, I always think poor, what ever I ate, I'm thankful for you taking your life so I can keep breathing. Thanks for your sacrifice I highly appreciate it. The way I am, I think that that's me respecting nature and the animals, even though I am taking a life of an animal, I am thankful that I do have it to eat.

With all of this, I think it is a great idea to respect nature in its truest form, so we may continue to live off the land. I think it is also important to share these values, or ideas to other people including youth. This is because youth can share what we teach them when they get older to other youth in the future, so no one will ever disrespect any type of nature in this world, from now on.

September 15, 2010

2010-09-15T09:23:00.004-08:00

Respect for Nature

Written by: Tara Chamberlain, Language Arts Teacher, Romig Middle School

When I think about respecting nature the first thing that comes to my mind is my brother and I as kids gathering empty aluminum cans from the store parking lots around Anchorage. We would gather the necessary amount and then Mom would take us to the recycling center to collect our small cash incentive. At the time, I didn’t make the connection that what we were doing was good for our environment; all I knew was that I was going to be able to by a few blow pops from the store.

The other image that appears in my mind is also from my childhood, but this time I am a little older and I find myself living on Finger Lake in the Matanuska Valley. In the middle of the lake, there is a steep island with many lovely trees. Often, I would paddle to that island in order to escape the chaos that life can sometimes bring, and I would find contentment in watching the loons on the water or the trees swaying in the wind.

There are many ways in which we can respect nature; we can do it actively or we can do it thoughtfully. We can honor nature and give thanks when we share with others the lessons we have learned; how it has helped us heal and grow as spiritual beings. We can give thanks when we take time to be still and be a part of our environment.

“Once in his life a man ought to concentrate his mind upon the remembered earth, I believe. He ought to give himself up to a particular landscape in his experience, to look at it from as many angles as he can, to wonder about it, to dwell upon it.” – N. Scott Momaday

September 14, 2010

2010-09-13T16:53:00.003-08:00

Respect for Nature

Written by: J.J. Iverson, Social Studies Teacher, West High School

As a youngster growing up, one of the hardest transitions I had to make was moving from Mississippi to Pierre, South Dakota the summer before fifth grade. Although I was excited to move to where my father was from and be closer to relatives, I was still a little scared as to what this new place had to offer. In order to make the transition smoother my parents signed me up for numerous activities to get me interacting with other kids and get me comfortable with my new environment.

One of these activities was the local Boy Scouts. At first, I didn’t like the idea of having to wear a uniform, show up at a church on Tuesdays for meetings, pay dues, and volunteer. However, when my parents showed me the brochure of Troop 27 camping, whitewater rafting, hiking, shooting rifles, and mountain climbing, I thought being a boy scout wouldn’t be too bad.

I remember our first camping trip I was so excited! We were headed to Ft. Robinson in Wyoming to plant trees after a fire had ravaged the area a couple years earlier. Upon arriving and checking in, our scout master told us that before we could set up camp we would first patrol the campsite and pick up any trash. I thought this was silly, especially after he told us we would be doing it again before we left. This was my first lesson in having a respect for nature. We would all line up side-by-side with our arms extended outward on one edge of the campsite. Imagine a long police lineup of teenage boys positioned like human crosses. On the command of the scout master we would begin walking – picking up any trash in our paths. We would do this both lengthwise and width wise to ensure every bit of trash was picked up.

Even though I disliked the idea of having to do this before every camping trip I soon realized that this short, simple task was important for several reasons. It taught us about cleanliness, neatness, organization, and teamwork. Above all, it helped us develop a respect for nature.

To this day every time I go camping I include this pre and post cleanup as part of my routine. Some people ask me why I do it and I tell them that I’m just trying to do my part to keep the land beautiful. I also do it because I know my scout master would put me on dish duty if I didn’t.

This is my experience dealing with Respect for Nature as I was growing up in South Dakota in the early 1990’s.

September 13, 2010

2010-09-13T08:55:00.002-08:00

Respect for Nature:

Written by: Eileen Jordan, Math Teacher, Romig Middle School

Several years ago, we moved to Sitka with our two small children. While we were living there I had the opportunity to do my student teaching at one of the local schools. One of the lessons I was required to teach during my stint was a 3-week course on learning about the marine life on the Sitka shore. We would walk the students to the shore each day to observe and learn about the tiny marine life. The tide pools and shores were full of fish, crab, and barnacles. It was all so fascinating, but the true lesson came through for me as well as the students….we were to look, learn, appreciate, and respect the natural habitat of all the marine life we could see up close.

Many of the students had lived in Southeast Alaska their whole life and had an understanding about the marine life that depended on people leaving them alone. I learned, along with many of the new students, how just observing and not disturbing allowed the life in the small tide pools to continue to exist for years to come so the next several generations of people can see and enjoy them.

I had an opportunity to visit Sitka about 10 years after we had moved to Anchorage. I knew one of the first things I was going to do was walk through Totem Park and stroll along the shore to look at the tide pools once again. Respecting even the tiniest natural habitats is a gift we can teach our children and hopefully can be passed down to future generations.

September 10, 2010

2010-09-09T16:24:00.002-08:00

Humor:

Written by: Pauline O’Brien, Primary Literacy Teacher, Susitna Elementary School

I grew up in a family of six and, being the middle child, I had to be the one helping my three younger siblings. I remember having to get up in the morning to make toast for food in the morning, and my parents we so amazed with me doing this. So, I became the toast maker for everyone; mind you I was only 4 years old at the time. My brother was just 11 months younger and a younger sister came later. I started really well at becoming a great helper around the house, and actually started fishing with my grandpa at the age of seven. Talking about growing up fast! Living in the village of Akhiok during the summers and wintering in Kodiak, I realized at a very young age about work and having a good work ethic. This was going to be the key to my success.

All along, I was good at working but I lacked something in the education department. Because of fishing, we had always left school one month early and went back to school one month late. I don’t blame my parents for doing what they needed to do to put food on the table, but I didn’t read until the 4^th grade. By the time I got to 6^th grade, I was in a special reading class, with my other friends, probably in the same situation. I became bound and determined to get out of that class and join the rest of my friends, and by the 7^th grade I was out. I bet you are wondering where the humor is; well I will tell you.

Fishing with my grandpa and actually living with him during the summer, I learned that he was very old fashioned. Laughing and having a good time meant you were being silly. Well I must have always had this sense of humor because my friends would always be laughing which then made my grandpa mad. That was the end of our giggling and they went home. He would say, “That Sandy is not good, don’t hang out with her; she is too silly.” If he only knew who really was the silly one.

At many times during this cooking, cleaning, taking care of my sibling’s time, I was never laughing. I would cry about all the work I had to do to help out and wondered WHY ME? But, when I was around my friends, they were probably doing the same things in their homes. I would make light of our days. I guess my silliness was a way of escaping such a real and grounded world that no child should really be responsible for all the time. I believe that children should be children, and only for some of the chores that are not like labor, but are helpful around the house. I want my children to see what good work ethic is, not put them through it at an early age. To this day, I hold this sense of humor and I always try to make others feel not so serious but to let go and sometimes have a good laugh.

My Grandpa passed away when I was 15 years old, and my oldest brother a year later. I am grateful for his wisdom, and so thankful for the niece I have with me today. I still joke around and always have a smile on my face because life is too short to not enjoy those around you.

Thank you for allowing me to share my story, I have many more to share in the future.

September 9, 2010

2010-09-08T17:24:00.002-08:00

Humor

Written by: Mary Moran, Math Teacher, Bartlett High School

My students know from the very first day that I have a HUGE aversion to nasal mucous—that is, I HATE SNOT! So, students know that when they have a cold, I know they will grab a tissue, go FAR away from my classroom door, blow their noses, drop the tissue in the nearby trash can, and come back into class quietly.

So, this one afternoon after the lesson, I was circulating around the class when I passed two of my jokesters. All of a sudden behind me, I heard a loud “ACHOOO!” and then I felt a light, cold spray all over the back of my bare arm.

“Oh, I’m so sorry!” one student says.

“OOOHHH! That’s so NASTY!” I shrieked. Then I heard the snicker and turned around. The student had ducked his head and was covering his mouth with his hand while his seatmate, held a water bottle with a hole in the top!

Humor goes a long way—both ways—in my classes.

This is how I remember it at Bartlett High School in 2007 as told to and written by Ellen Kennedy.

Thank you, Ellen. You are terrific!

September 8, 2010

2010-09-08T08:41:00.000-08:00

Humor

Written by: Lee Bullington, Media Instructor, Education Resource Center

Like everyone on this planet life can be lots of things… fun, challenging, horrifying and stressful. But one thing that’s universal, is Humor.

By the time I graduated from high school I had gone to 18 schools. Eighteen different schools across rural Alaska. For whatever reason, my parents decided to always relocate in the middle of the school year, sometimes twice a year. Was this a big joke?

I never found the benefits of always moving and found it challenging most of the time. I spent the first 18 years of my life always making new friends, saying good-bye to old friends, packing, unpacking and constantly trying to catch up with the class curriculum. Ugh.

Early on, I discovered many people were like me, they also didn’t like change. Students were always fighting with me because I was the “new” kid, the “white” kid, the “cops” kid or the “big city” kid from Kodiak.

I graduated from my class (all nine of us) and headed to college. I decided to attend the University of Alaska Fairbanks (UAF) in the Fall because, why not, I was used to moving across state and it was my big chance to start off the school year at the beginning of the semester and not the middle.

Those first couple of days were amazing. The new faces, buildings and all the options. It was something. I was used to it after all but the great thing is that everyone else was experiencing it at the same time. I began to worry what I was doing moving again though… was I continuing the “loop” of always moving and it would never end? Would I want to pick up and move in the middle of the school year?

I was still in the process of moving into my dorm room when I stepped into the elevator. It was crowded with other students doing the same. I was last on and the elevator was full, I couldn’t see anyone behind me. The doors closed. All of a sudden a tiny voice from behind said, “Are you Lee Bullington?” I couldn’t turn around because the elevator was packed. So, staring straight ahead, I replied, “Yep”. The voice then said, “I thought so, I used to sit behind you in second grade!”

People in the elevator chuckled. I smiled.

That’s my experience with humor as I lived it in an elevator at UAF.

September 7, 2010

2010-09-07T10:45:00.000-08:00

Humor

Written by: Crystal Brown, Intermediate Literacy/Math Teacher, Lake Hood Elementary

I never knew anyone who didn’t enjoy a good joke or a funny story until I met a first grader named Kyle during my year of student teaching in North Pole. Kyle was a very serious and sensitive child. He hated to be the center of attention and hated it even more when he thought anyone was laughing at him.

Brody, on the other hand, loved being the center of attention and loved making the other kids laugh. He didn’t care if he was laughing with you or at you, laughing was what he did best and he did lots of it. Brody didn’t care that it made Kyle extremely upset whenever he laughed at him.

Brody was reprimanded every time we caught him making fun of or laughing at Kyle (or any other student), but we did not see a noticeable change in his behavior until one day, as the students were lined up to go to PE, Brody puked. Right there in the middle of the line, with absolutely no warning, he emptied his stomach onto the carpet and he got laughed at and looked at with repulsion by the other first graders. After that day, Brody did not seem so quick to laugh at others.

Humor is fun and can be a great connector, but it also can hurt and become a great divider. No matter how you use humor, it should always be respectful.

This is a story about respectful humor as I observed it in North Pole, Alaska in 2005.

September 6, 2010

2010-09-03T17:07:00.000-08:00

Humor

Written by: Cami Larochelle, Intermediate Literacy/Math Teacher, Scenic Park Elementary

It was at the end of the school year in Kotlik, Alaska. I just completed another year of teaching 5^th and 6^th grades. Students were dismissed from school, but three girls from my class enthusiastically volunteered their time to help me clean the classroom. I made sure that they had permission from their parents to do so.

I was busy finalizing grades, attendance and end of the year paper work. I was so determined I didn’t take a few minutes to visit with them. The girls dusted and wiped down the chalkboards and walls. When they were done one of the girls asked, “What you want us to do next, Cami?”

I scanned the room and noticed that one of the bulletin boards still had butcher paper and material stapled on it. I replied, “How about taking down that bulletin board.” They agreed.

I continued working on my grades, engrossed and preoccupied to meet deadlines. About 20 minutes passed when one of the girls asked, “Where do you want us to put this?” Two of the girls were holding the bulletin board completely off the wall! Amazed, I asked “How did you get that down?!” They replied, “We used a butter knife from the kitchen like screw driver.”

I laughed; they looked at me with confused eyes. I explained I didn’t literally mean take the bulletin board down off the wall, but to take the material off from the bulletin board. “Ooohh…” then their laughter began. After all our laughter, I apologized for not being specific and not paying close attention to what they were doing. We screwed the bulletin board back on the wall then took the material off the bulletin board.

I thought they were pretty clever, working quietly and modifying the butter knife as a screw driver.

Lesson learned: Slow down and smell the roses, be grateful for the families involved, for parents allowing their children to help me, and the students volunteering their time. Take time to visit with them, after all they took time to help me. Be specific, regardless of the age of the students. Remember that not everyone may understand figures of speech, idioms, terms, slang, acronyms etc.

Be able to laugh at yourself for silly mistakes and laugh with others. Laughter exercises your internal organs. Stay healthy!

September 3, 2010

2010-09-02T16:38:00.001-08:00

Cooperation

Written by: Juliana Crandall, Academic Advocate, Begich Middle School

I grew up in Anchorage and graduated from the Anchorage School District. I am a “City Girl”. I spent some time in my home village of Tyonek, AK when I was young and visited a few times as a teen and now more frequently as an adult. I always knew there was something different about “Village Life”. A few summers back, I learned that community cooperation was a huge part of that difference. Cooperation is what made a difference in learning about my culture.

My dad was teaching my brother and I how to set our nets and all that we would need to know about subsistence living. When it came time to pull the nets in, a cousin on one end and a family friend on the other, came together and pulled net after net in. Then we all picked the nets together. This was something completely new to my brother and me. Barking King Salmon tangled in nets was scary. We watched everyone just pick fish after fish. Slowly, we understood and were able to help.

This continued for each part of the process. Everyone cooperated, worked together and usually without words. Everyone knew their part, did it without complaint, and knew to teach my brother and me.

This is a story about cooperation as I experienced it in 2008 in Tyonek, AK. We know that we need to work together to continue to survive as people and as a culture as it is built into us all.

September 2, 2010

2010-09-01T13:12:00.001-08:00

Cooperation

Written by: Georgianna Starr, Math Teacher, Begich Middle School

When I visited my grandma, there was always a lot of housework. Someone had to cook for the adults and usually cook something different for the kids, wash, dry, and put dishes away, sweep and mop the floor, take out the trash, wash and hang the clothes outside, get the clothes to fold and put away, make the beds, and generally put things away. We were told as kids either clean up or go out. When we reached a certain age, we had to clean. With so many kids and adults there, it had to get done. I don’t really remember how things got delegated, but everyone helped out. I never thought of it as being work though. Why? I’m not sure. Maybe I was having too much fun.

My mother comes from a large extended family. As a child, I knew my mom was from Scammon Bay, had a lot of sisters, and is the eldest daughter out of 10 children. I never thought of my mother being a mother figure or an authority figure to her sisters as she was growing up.

As the eldest, she delegated weekly chores to her sisters and was very strict in her standards. My aunt told me this story about what happened if you didn’t do your chores properly. It was one of the sister’s turn to make the beds (knowing that my mom checked the work.) This time, the bed making didn’t pass. My aunt said that my mom pulled off ALL the covers off the beds and made the sister redo them. I always smile when I think about this.

I don’t hear a lot of stories about my mother, but this one sticks in my head because my mom’s house always bugs me when I visit. I end up vacuuming, sweeping, mopping the floor, cleaning the bathroom, and dusting. “Why don’t you dust?” is my line. My mom’s response, “I don’t like to dust.” My usual reply, “Gee Whiz, no one LIKES to dust.” I can’t imagine my mother being the CLEAN boss back in the day. I texted my mom to see what she thought about this story. She texted me back and said that “it needed to be done right.” Then she asked, “when did I see Theresa?” Which made me smile harder because my mom is the oldest and Theresa is the next oldest, so it was Theresa who had to remake the beds.

This is my story of cooperation. Large families need to cooperate in lots of different ways. Being part of a family doesn’t always mean blood relative. Think of your classroom and your school as family. Sometimes you spend more time with them anyway, so you might as well enjoy it!