Hakyaxamik*

Growing up, I never knew two of my brothers — but I could picture them 

- Troy Sebastian

WHEN I WAS about six or seven , I lived in my father’s house on the rez. My room was walled with that cheap faux wood lining that calendars, pictures, or postcards find it a challenge to stick to. The effect — unintended, as I cannot believe that Indian Affairs would be so prescient as to achieve this on purpose — evoked a feeling of impermanent residence, hollow and fragile.

Still, some things did find their way onto our walls. One should not discount “Injun-nuity,” huh? My father’s headgear — some wool hats for winter walks and well-worn ball caps for summer sun — was laid out with pride by the kitchen entrance, an unsettling large photo of the A&W bear was in the hallway, and we had a tapestry hanging depicting a group of black bears in the woods.