Indian

When I grow up I want to be an Indian
I know this now for sure
I always played an Indian whenever we played outside
I always had the coolest gear and knew the best places to hide
I never felt a difference, in fact I felt the same
When I played an Indian as I did playing in any other game
I felt the best though when I dressed the part
And I got to be an Indian again in the yard or the park
It seemed to me they hardly spoke
But when they did they said a lot
When they fought it was usually for peace
Never for greed or anger
Living in happiness and harmony
With nature and the earth
Respecting death and celebrating birth
Understanding the life of the bear, the fish and crow
The eagle, the beaver and the moose
Knowing things passed down that only the wise men know
When I grow up I want to be an Indian
I know this now for sure
I've decided and made up my mind
In order to seek and to find
My inner most strengths and powers
To put them to use and to change my life
To recover from shame and disgrace
From sad smiles I put on another face
To rebuild from my inside out
Until I feel proud again to go from inside out
I have spent my whole life wondering about
I just need all the things I already know
On my inside to come out
I want to make my own medicine bag
To control what bothers me
I want to make my own walking stick
To help me walk the path ahead
I want to make and beat a drum
I can call my own
To signal and to celebrate
I'll never drum alone
I want to be and Indian
I want everyone to see
To see me as I am on my inside on my out
The Hurons, The Nipissing, and The Mississauga
The Ojibwe, The Odawa, The Temagami too
I see how they all are different
and at the same time just like me and you
But me I want to be an Indian, like a Cree or a Souix
When I grow up I want to be an Indian
I know this now for sure
I met a spirit not long ago
On the Saugeen shore
It's not as though it spoke to me
Or appeared as a spirit ghost
It seemed to guide my mind I think
Is what I remember most
It shone like a bright light in the darkest night
It felt warm like a fire in the morning light
My mind felt like it left had me
And my body was but a host
Tears began to fill up both of my eyes
I felt just like a child again
When I heard her speak
I closed my eyes and all was good
At fifty-five I began my childhood

there is a lot of truth in this poem. I came as an immigrant to Canada as a 5 year old boy in 1959. I was an immediate outcast...I was Hitler, Nazi Boy, Kraut, Killer, etc. I felt so much hate that I knew exactly what other people such as African descendants, and Native or Aboriginals must have felt. For almost 5 years I had to run home or get beat up. So I knew the shortest, longest, quickest, I knew every way home...I always played an Indian when we played outside, and hate to tell you this but my side usually won! They never saw it coming, and soon there were more Indians than cowboys. I'll tell you when I stopped running in another poem.