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6. Self-Sanding Roads - 1994
- Minnesota Historical Society Press
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87 6. Self-Sanding Roads 8 1994 Christmas—what a bummer. My earliest memories of Christmas were formed at the federal boarding school at Pipestone. We were given presents of ribbon candy and fruit. All it meant to me was some big guy was going to beat me up and take my presents. When I was in the Christian boarding school I was older so no one beat me up, but the season was still a disappointment. I learned about that time that there was no such thing as goodwill toward man. When my son was in the first grade, he told the teacher that we didn’t celebrate Christmas. She went out of her way and bought him a fake tree. We thanked her but left it in the box and later gave it to someone who does Christmas. In Vietnam Bob Hope came to help us celebrate Christmas. I couldn’t figure out the link between peace on earth and a rice-paddy firefight. Today there is no tree inside my house. We just leave them outside where they continue to grow. No tinsel, angels, stars, or cute manger scenes. My light bill stays the same because we don’t outline the house in colored lights. I could never make the connection between lights and the birth of the Christ child. The only real connection I can figure out is that the power companies sponsor lighting contests every year. We went to Prairie Island for a bingo game. On the way down there, we saw many, many Christmas lights. When we got there we could see the red lights at the nuclear power plant. It looked like they were all decorated up for Christmas, too. Maybe if we didn’t use as many lights, we wouldn’t have to worry about above-ground storage for nuclear waste, especially in a flood plain. No frenzied shopping at the mall for us. When we want to give a 88 Anishinaabe Syndicated gift,wejustdoitregardlessofthetimeoftheyear.Forus,gift-giving is a year-round activity. We usually wait until after Christmas when the prices come down in the clearance sales. I am proud to be called a Scrooge. I am not the Grinch that stole Christmas. I just ignore it and it goes away on its own. I am still confused—who are we supposed to honor at this time of the year? Is it Christ or Santa Claus? I was raised to respect other people’s beliefs, but this doesn’t mean I have to buy into the white guy’s holiday. I just sit back and watch people go nuts. Call me unAmerican , but I don’t believe in Christmas. I hope it works for those who do believe. As I was writing this, my grandson Aaron came walking by singing, “Jingle bells, jingle bells, jingle all the way.” Fond du Lac Follies rode the dog, the greyhound bus, to the Cities. It was the usual winter dead-car story. All my relatives who could give me a ride were either working or their cars weren’t. I had to get to the Cities. The bus pulled into Cloquet and the driver said, “Standing room only until Hinckley. Otherwise, you can wait for the next bus six hours from now.” I had to use the bathroom, so I got on first. Five others decided to stand in the bus aisle. After standing for a few miles, swaying around the corners, I decided the whole idea was silly. Stand on a bus all the way to the Cities? There must be a better way, I thought. I knew where there was an open seat. I went back in the bathroom. I closed the lid on the blue-water tank and had a seat. The plastic was kind of hard, but compared to standing—this was great. I had more elbow room than the other fifty-two passengers. I opened my newspaper full width and read. There was a little window in there that I could open. I couldn’t see much besides snowbanks and ditches but felt like I could control my environment. Fresh air when I wanted it. I propped the door open so the other passengers would know I was a social animal. I used a Greyhound moist towelette to wedge the light on. The vibrations from the motor were coming through the plastic seat. I stood for a while because I was beginning to enjoy the buzz. I thought of...