Growing up, I never knew two of my brothers — but I could picture them
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.
この記事は The Walrus の March 2018 版に掲載されています。
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この記事は The Walrus の March 2018 版に掲載されています。
7 日間の Magzter GOLD 無料トライアルを開始して、何千もの厳選されたプレミアム ストーリー、9,000 以上の雑誌や新聞にアクセスしてください。
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MY GUILTY PLEASURE
I WAS AS SURPRISED as anyone when I became obsessed with comics again last year, at the advanced age of forty-five. As a kid, I loved reading G.I. Joe and The Amazing Spider-Man.
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