Then I had an idea. Why not videotape Charley so I could see what he did that always got him first, second, or third place?
I signaled to the emcee that I wasn’t quite ready to begin. He nodded to me and indicated that he’d wait just one minute. I ran over to Adrian.
“Do me a favor,” I whispered. “Videotape Charley this time. I want to study his moves later.”
Adrian thought about it for a second and then nodded his agreement. As I turned to go back into the arena I spotted little Roy and his mother in the stands. I waved and gave him a big smile. He stood up and yelled, “Good luck, Mark!”
I realized I had my first fan. How about that, Mr. Charley Big-Shot Lakota Dancer! I ran back to my position and nodded to the emcee that I was ready.
“Take it away, Wild Horse Drum,” the announcer said, and their song began. It started as a soft beat with a single drummer. Within a few beats it grew louder and stronger as all of the drummers came in. I started moving to the hard, steady beat.
It knew it wasn’t a Crow Hop. It didn’t have that kind of slower beat. It wasn’t a Sneak-up either. The song didn’t begin with a roll of the drum that sounded like gunfire on the battlefield. I realized it was a Duck and Dive song. Adrian told me this was an old warrior song from the Nez Perce or maybe our own tribe, depending on who was telling the story.
When the first set of honor beats came, all the dancers moved in a ducking motion, like they were dodging a cannonball on the battlefield. Grandpa had told Adrian that the idea for this song was based on an actual battle in 1877, when the Plains Indian people were being chased by the US Cavalry.
This time I only watched the drummers while I danced. I didn’t look at Charley at all. I just felt the beat and relied on the practice I’d done. When the song ended, I stopped right on the last beat. I felt good about my performance.
The emcee gave the judges a few minutes to figure the scores, and then he called for an intertribal round dance. All the people in the stands came into the arena for a fun dance.
I walked over to where Roy and his mother were sitting.
“This dance is for everyone,” I told Mrs. Weatherby. “You and Roy can come in and dance with me if you want to.”
She said she was too shy to ever do anything like that, but it was all right for Roy. So I took Roy’s little hand and we danced. I showed him how to move with the beat as we circled the arena. He was totally into it.
When the song was over I took him back to his mother.
“I’m glad you guys came,” I told her. “You should take Roy whenever there’s a powwow. You’d always be welcome.”
She thanked me and said she’d try, but I didn’t think she really meant it. I hoped she would for Roy’s sake. I went looking for Adrian.
“Did you get it?” I asked when I found him. “Did you get Charley’s moves?”
“Yeah, I got it,” Adrian replied.
“Good. I want you to tape his other two rounds too. If we’re lucky, we’ll get a Sneak-up and a Crow Hop before the weekend’s finished.”
We had a Crow Hop that night and a Sneak-up Sunday afternoon. Adrian taped Charley both times. Look out, Mr. Charley Big-Shot Lakota Dancer. I’m going to be as good as you very soon.
Chapter 10
Winter Break
Winter in California is different from a lot of other places. I’d seen on the Weather Channel that it gets down below freezing for long periods of time in some parts of the country, and the snow blows and piles up several feet high for days at a time.
But here in Chumash territory, people think it’s cold when it gets down to forty-five degrees. It’s a really cold night when the temperature drops to thirty-two. It might get that cold only a few nights during the winter. That’s why Californians are known as weather wimps.
But Nana said that no matter what the winter weather was like, many tribes spent the winters telling stories and tribal histories. It was a way of passing on traditions and tales to younger generations. A way of keeping those things alive.
So at the beginning of December, we had another family meeting to talk about what we were going to do during the coming winter. Nana, Pablo, Adrian, and I sat at the kitchen table drinking hot chocolate, even though it was a mild fifty-five degrees outside.
“Since you’ve been here, we’ve mostly focused on the powwow and your Crow side,” Nana said. “But this winter I want to spend more time talking about your Chumash history and culture.”
“Sounds good,” I replied. “When I was honored at the Chumash powwow, and you gave me a Chumash name, I realized that I didn’t know enough about my Chumash roots.”
“We’ll begin your Chumash lessons at the Winter Solstice,” Nana said. “That’s a very important time of year in Chumash culture.”
“What’s the Winter Solstice?” I asked. “I’ve never heard of that.”
“It’s the time of year, around December twenty-first, when the days are shortest,” Nana said. “Special ceremonies are held to honor Grandfather Sun and to keep all things in the world in balance. But we’ll talk about all this at Winter Solstice.”
I had plenty to think about and work on until then. Final exams for the semester were coming up soon. Math and Spanish were my two worst subjects.
I’d decided to take Spanish so I could have conversations with Pablo. But conjugating verbs wasn’t easy for me even in English. It was way over my head in Spanish. So I needed to get a little help outside of class on the subject.
One day, my Spanish teacher, Mr. Seleg, said I should come to his office after school to get the help I needed. So I knocked on his door on a Thursday afternoon in early December.
“Come in,” he called from behind the closed door.
What a surprise I got when I stepped into his office. One wall was covered with surfing posters and pictures! An old longboard leaned against a corner of the room.
“You’re a fan of surfing?” I asked, stepping closer to the wall of images.
“No, I’m a surfer,” he said. “Been at it since I was about your age.”
I looked closer at one of the photos. It was Mr. Seleg in a wet suit on a board, riding a five-foot wave!
“What about you?” he asked. “Ride the waves?”
“Are you kidding?” I said, turning back to him. “I grew up surfing down in San Diego. I sure miss it.”
He motioned for me to take a seat in the chair in front of his desk. I sat.
“What are you doing during the winter break?”
“Hanging around here mostly,” I said.
“Then you’re officially invited to go surfing with me sometime over the holiday.”
“Really? Awesome!”
“What board do you use?” Mr. Seleg asked.
“A Firewire Spitfire,” I answered.
“That’s a good short board, I hear. Easy to handle. My main board is a Stretch Fletcher Four-Fin.”
“That one requires special skills,” I said. “You must be good.”
“I had my day,” he said. “Won a few trophies.” He looked over at his photo on the wall. He had a faraway look in his eyes.
“But we’d better get down to business,” he said finally.
So we waded into my problems with Spanish. After a few tutoring sessions, I started catching on and began doing better in class. I think I did okay on the final exam.
On December twenty-first, we attended the Winter Solstice celebration held in the Chumash Elders Park. Before the ceremony began, Nana introduced me to an older Chumash man with long grayish hair.
“This is our paha,” Nana said. “That’s Chumash for ceremonial leader.”
I shook the man’s hand. He was wearing regalia like the Chumash singers had worn during my honoring ceremony at the powwow.
“You are the one called Nik’oyi Wop?” he asked.
“Yes, the Son Who Returns,” I replied.
“I wish more of our young people still received their Indian name as they did in the old day
s,” he said. “I am called Kilik Ku,” he said. “That means ‘Hawk Person’ in the Samala language.”
“Samala? What’s Samala?”
“That’s our word for ourselves and the name of the language we speak,” he answered. “Though we are Chumash, we are the Samala Chumash from this area right here. Other groups of Chumash in other areas have their own names for their groups as well.”
During the ceremony, Kilik Ku brought out a huge quartz crystal that had been kept in darkness since June twenty-first when the Summer Solstice ceremony was held.
Nana explained that at the summer ceremony, the crystal absorbs the sun’s rays. Those rays are then released into the atmosphere at the darkest time of the year. That signals the sun to start returning to its highest place in the sky.
After the ceremony, when we were having refreshments, Kilik Ku came over to me and Nana.
“I’ll be leading winter sweats over at the sweat lodge behind the health clinic,” he said. “I’d like to invite Mark to participate.”
“That would be a good thing for you to do,” Nana told me. “It fits right in with your Chumash cultural education.”
“Okay, if you say so,” I replied. “But I’ve never been in a sweat before.”
“We’ll go easy on you,” Kilik Ku said.
Although Dad and I had been regularly instant messaging and talking on the phone, I still missed him. That’s why I was really glad to see him when he flew to California to visit for a few days. He came to the reservation to see Nana and pick me up. We spent four great days together, including most of Christmas day. Then, late in the afternoon, he had to get back to Texas so he could go to work the next day.
My first sweat was the day after Christmas. I put my swimsuit on under my clothes and carried a towel with me as I walked to the lodge.
About a half dozen adults and youth gathered for the sweat, which was to begin about five o’clock in the evening. Kilik Ku promised that it wouldn’t be too hot in this sweat since there were several people who were new to the experience.
Hawk Person explained to us that before we arrived he had selected the stones to be used and had prayed over them. He and his assistant had placed firewood in the fire pit, then arranged the stones on top of the wood.
Now the stones were getting red hot, so hot they glowed. Kilik Ku said everything in the ceremony was done in fours or groups of four. There would be four rounds in the lodge. In each round he would sing four songs. Each of those songs contained four verses.
Hawk Person entered the lodge and took up his seat by the door, which was really a flap made of canvas. We took off our street clothes and entered the lodge one at a time, crawling on hands and knees. When everyone was seated inside, he signaled for his assistant to start bringing in the stones.
The whole process was very intense and not something I can really even explain. What happened in the lodge was something bigger than just the parts I could tell about. More than the darkness, heated rocks, steam, and songs that made up the ceremony. It wasn’t exactly magic, but it was close to that. And I don’t mean the cheap magic tricks you get in a kit. I mean it felt like I was connecting to the earth and the air and my own self for the first time.
When the last round was finished and Kilik Ku opened the flap, we crawled outside. I was very surprised to find that it had gotten dark. What I thought had taken about an hour had really lasted four hours.
As I dried myself off and drank some cool water, I looked up into the night sky. Spread out above me like millions of crystals were stars that were brighter than I’d ever seen them. I could clearly see the belt of stars that made up the Milky Way.
By the time I got home, I had a neck ache from looking up at those stars. I had also stepped in a hole and run into a couple of bushes, I was so focused on the sky. I collapsed into my bed, and when I opened my eyes a few moments later, it was morning. What a night!
My first surfing session with Mr. Seleg came the following Saturday. Nana had given me permission to go surfing with my Spanish teacher because he was already a family friend. Adrian had him for Spanish, and he’d been to Nana’s house for Chumash events.
We met him in the high school parking lot that morning. He drove a cool 1970 VW van that had been repainted and fixed up. Real retro. He strapped my board next to his on the roof rack, and we zoomed away as fast as that forty-year-old, air-cooled engine could take us.
“Do you have to dodge stand-up paddle-boarders where you surf?” I asked as we drove along Highway 101 toward the ocean.
“No, we’ll probably be the only ones on the water where we’re going,” he said with a big grin. “We’re surfing an area along the Gaviota Coast, just off the Foxen Canyon Ranch. You have to own property there to even get access to the beach, which I do.”
“Awesome,” I said.
The Pacific Ocean was always freezing cold, no matter what time of year. I’d learned that from all my years of surfing in San Diego. I was glad I could still fit into my wet suit, but I’d grow out of it within a couple more months.
There was nothing better in the world than to have the sun in your face, a board under your feet, and a wave chasing you from behind. I didn’t realize how much I’d missed it.
We got in a good four hours of wave-riding that day, and I was exhausted by the time we arrived back at Nana’s house. Pablo was there to greet us, and he decided to test my Spanish teacher’s speaking skills.
After about a ten-minute conversation, Pablo gave my Spanish teacher two thumbs up, and we knew he’d passed the test. I only understood about every fifth word they spoke, and Mr. Seleg promised Pablo he’d have me speaking conversational Spanish in no time.
As my surfing Spanish teacher left, he promised we’d ride the waves again very soon.
The end of the year was just a few days away. When I thought about what I’d done in the last few months, I almost couldn’t believe it was all real. So much had been jammed into so little time. I hoped the coming year would be half as exciting!
Chapter 11
A New Year
On New Year’s Day, our extended Chumash family gathered at our house. We watched the Rose Bowl parade on TV, ate a huge dinner, watched a football game, played a couple of video games, made up silly New Year’s resolutions, and took a walk along the creek. It was an all-day thing.
Everyone started to head out around sunset. When they’d all gone, Adrian and I planted ourselves in his room. He cranked up a powwow CD and we listened.
In a little while, Nana came into the room carrying a large, rolled-up piece of paper.
“I’d like to show you both something I’ve been working on,” she said. Adrian turned down the music, and we made room on the bed for Nana to unroll the paper.
“This is your Chumash family tree,” she said.
On the paper was a hand-drawn chart filled with rows of names and lines connecting the names. On the top of the page was written a title: “Ten Generations of a Chumash Family.”
“What’s the earliest date you see on the chart?” she asked.
Adrian and I looked at the top of the chart. There was a woman’s name in Spanish and the date of her birth.
“Seventeen forty-two,” Adrian and I said at the same time.
“That’s right,” Nana confirmed. “A Chumash woman named Modesta was born about 1742. Modesta wouldn’t have been her real name, her Chumash name.”
“Why is that?” I asked.
“All the Indians who were taken into the missions were given Spanish names. They were also entered into the mission records, and I have traced those records generation by generation.”
With her finger, she moved down the page, tracing a line of names, until she reached the bottom. There I saw my and Adrian’s names.
“You and Adrian are the tenth generation of this family,” Nana said. “Of course there are lots more generations that go back further, but these are the ones we have records for.”
“Wow!” I said, a little
in awe.
“We’ve lived on this land for at least nine thousand years according to anthropologists,” Nana added. “Probably longer.”
“Wow!” I said again.
Then Nana moved her finger back up to about the middle of the chart, stopping on the name Maria Solares.
“I remember that name,” I blurted out. “You mentioned her at the powwow.”
“Right,” Nana agreed. “She was one of our most important ancestors.”
Nana looked at Adrian.
“Tell Mark what you know about her,” Nana told him.
“In the early 1900s, she worked with a guy named J. P. Harrington. He went around California taking notes about Native languages, stories, and traditions.”
“Right again,” Nana said. “He worked with Maria for three or four years, right here on this reservation, and wrote down everything she said. He took over one hundred thousand pages of notes about the Chumash.”
“Wow!” I said a third time.
“That’s why we honor her every year,” Nana continued. “The missions had forced us to stop speaking our language and stop carrying on our traditions. But Maria had been taught all those things by her uncle when she was young.”
“It’s because of her that we’ve been able to relearn those things,” Adrian added.
“Mixed in with everything else you’ll be doing this year, we’ll be studying the things Maria left for us,” Nana said. “The stories she told and the words she spoke came from this place, right where we are. The more you know about your own ancestors, the more you’ll know about who you are.”
“Whoa,” I said. “I never knew there was so much stuff to learn about being an Indian. I guess it’s hard to know that you don’t know what you don’t know.”
“What?” Adrian made a funny face.
“Did that make sense?” I said. Adrian thought for a minute.
“Yeah, in a weird way, it did,” Adrian said.
“Well, I’m glad you got it,” Nana said as she rolled up the family tree. “I’ll leave you boys to your powwow music.”
Son Who Returns Page 6
