In Search of Mother Turtle

As the years go by, non-Native people are starting to understand a little more about Native life. In 1978, Congress passed The Indian Child Welfare Act. This meant that any Native child born after 1978, who was to be adopted, must be placed in a home that was reflective of his or her traditions and values. Unfortunately, this wasn't always the case. I was adopted prior to 1978, and my experience was one of being placed and growing up in a non-Native home, which was anything but reflective of my tribal traditions and values.

 

He'd come into my bedroom at night and would crawl into bed with me. It was late, and I'd been sleeping for a while, but it wouldn't matter, because as soon as I heard him coming, I'd jolt awake. My heart would pound, and I'd start to shake—terrified. I knew what was going to happen. At first all he did was kiss me and penetrate me with his finger. But this hurt, and I'd leave my body to escape the pain he'd inflict and the fear that consumed me. I'd imagine I was talking to my birthmother or maybe my adoptive mom. I only knew I couldn't be there in that room with him, and it's probably what saved me from going crazy. When he'd finish and go back to his room, I'd return but lay awake for hours, scared. What if he came back? Sometimes he did, sometimes he didn't. Between the ages of five and eight this was a nightly ritual. It happened without fail. I also knew there was nothing I could do to stop it, and there wasn't anyone who would stop him from doing it again.

He never spoke to me when he'd do this, except to say before he left, "Don't say anything about this to anyone, or people will know how bad you are." Or he'd say, "Don't say anything about this or Mom and Margaret will die, and it will be all your fault." That was enough to keep my mouth shut. For one thing, I truly believed that my adoptive dad was capable of killing, but more importantly, Mom and Margaret were my saviors. In front of them he could always hit me, but he could never hurt me sexually. I also felt that what he was doing was wrong, and if I was going to get in trouble for it, I decided I must have done something to provoke it. I walked around with guilt oozing from my skin, and that is what made it so easy for him to pin all the guilt on an innocent six-year-old Lakota girl from the Rosebud Sioux Reservation.

I was born Mary Lou Bald Eagle to Caroline "Jessie" Black Bonnet and Dave William Bald Eagle. At the time of my birth, my parents no longer lived together. My father had left my mother six months before. According to him, he left my mother because she was drinking and couldn't stop. My father walked away from her and didn't see me again until I was two months old. On that day, I was wrapped up in a soft pink baby blanket sleeping next to my mother in the back of a station wagon. He peeked in through the window, not wanting to wake us. He told me that he remembered standing with his hand above his eyebrow, shading the sun from his eyes, so he could look at me—the daughter he would not see again for twenty-four years. He also told me that he had felt a sadness because he could not be a part of my life as long as my mother was drinking. Fourteen months after my father saw me through the station wagon window my brothers, sisters...