Son Who Returns Read online

  “It all looks good,” I said.

  “Comamos!” Pablo said in Spanish.

  “Let’s eat,” Nana translated.

  And we did. I discovered that my ancestors really knew how to find and fix very good foods.

  Chapter 4

  My New Home

  As the days went by, I had to get used to a different pace of life. Before I got here, I thought there wouldn’t be much to do. But I was wrong. There was always something going on in a family this big. There were birthdays, baptisms, weddings, sporting events, Native American cultural events—always something.

  It was great to learn that most of the people who lived on the reservation were mixed-bloods. They all came from at least two or three bloodlines, so I didn’t feel so different.

  “Our history is in our blood,” Nana explained one afternoon. We were drinking lemonade under a big oak tree in her backyard. You could hear water running in the creek a few feet away.

  “What do you mean?” I asked.

  “Let’s take you, for example,” she said. “You’re Chumash, Crow, Mexican, and Filipino, right?”

  “That’s what Mom and Dad always told me,” I said. “Dad is Filipino and Mexican. Mom was Crow and Chumash.”

  “Did you ever wonder how those different kinds of people came together?”

  “No, I guess I didn’t,” I answered. “Now that I think about it, I never really asked. I just accepted it.”

  “That’s called the family tree. Each of us has one, with many roots and branches.”

  “Okay. I get it.”

  “The four different branches of your family tree have come together to make you. Each branch is worth knowing. And each one has a history, a story behind it.”

  “Adrian told me a little about my Crow branch,” I said. “But I really don’t know much about the Chumash branch either. I barely remember a few things Mom said.”

  “Chumash people have lived in this valley for at least ten thousand years,” she said. “Our ancestors were smart people who learned to live in harmony with the land. Their village sites are scattered all over this area.”

  There was a kind of pride in her voice when she spoke about the Chumash.

  “Then, in the 1700s, the Spaniards discovered the California region,” she continued. “They moved in and took over. They built the missions, told us they’d teach us a better way of life, and caused us to lose our traditional ways.” Her voice was sadder now.

  “After that, we were overrun with waves of outsiders looking for land and wealth,” she finished.

  “Why couldn’t they be stopped?” I asked.

  “There were just too many of them,” Nana answered. “They had better weapons, and horses, and they had a plan to take the land right out from under us. And they passed laws saying that we didn’t have any rights. California Natives almost completely died out.”

  This wasn’t any history I’d ever learned in school. It was all kind of depressing.

  “But look at us now,” Nana continued. “We’re making a huge comeback. We’ve been able to start relearning our own culture and language, and even buying back land that was taken from us.”

  “What was it that changed?” I asked.

  “A lot,” she answered. “New laws were passed about tribes and tribal governments. More Natives got educated and learned to work within the American system. And most Americans learned to be more accepting of cultural differences.”

  “Okay. What else?”

  “One big thing was money. Regular income. Something we never had before. For generations we were nothing more than servants and laborers in white peoples’ homes.”

  She pointed toward the tribe’s casino that sat a few hundred feet away.

  “But things started to change in the 1980s. Congress passed laws that allowed Indian tribal governments to build casinos. That started right here with tribes in California.”

  She became lost in her own thoughts for a minute. Then she looked at me.

  “But enough about that,” she said. “Time to get your suitcase packed. You’ll need enough clothes for a four-day trip.”

  “Where are we going?”

  “We’re going to take Adrian to his next powwow,” Nana answered. “There’s a powwow somewhere in California almost every weekend of the summer and fall, you know.”

  “Where is this powwow going to be held?”

  “At a reservation near San Diego,” Nana replied, with a twinkle in her eye.

  “I thought you said you never go to San Diego,” I protested.

  “I was just kidding!” she said with a smile. “You’d better connect with your friends down there so we can make arrangements to pick up your surfboard. We’re leaving tomorrow morning, a whole day early, just for that.”

  I was too excited for words. I immediately ran back to my room, fired up the laptop, and went online. I let the guys in San Diego know I’d be coming their way, and then I packed my bag for the trip.

  The following morning, on Thursday, I was packed and ready to go. I stepped out the front door to find a huge RV parked in the street. A large tipi had been painted on the side, along with the words “Indian Country Traveler.”

  The RV’s side door opened, and out stepped Adrian.

  “Bring your bag on over so we can pack it away,” he called to me.

  “Where did this come from?” I asked.

  “We keep it parked behind the neighbor’s garage,” he replied as he opened a storage door on one side of the RV. “They have more room over there.”

  I shoved my bag in alongside everyone else’s luggage in the compartment. Adrian closed and locked the compartment door.

  “Pablo does most of the driving,” Adrian said as I followed him into the RV. “But I’m learning how to handle this monster on the highway.”

  Nana was already in the RV, sitting in the front passenger seat.

  “We’re just waiting for Pablo to finish checking the house and lock it up,” Nana said.

  Adrian and I sat down on the couch in the middle room of the RV. Soon Pablo stepped on board with a smile.

  “Vamonos!” he said as he took the driver’s seat.

  “Let’s go!” I successfully translated, and we pulled slowly away from the house.

  I had never ridden in an RV before. The huge thing swayed back and forth a little on the highway. I’m glad I brought plenty of things to do on the five-hour drive.

  We arrived at the RV campgrounds near San Diego at about three o’clock that afternoon. It was sunny and warm, a great day for the beach. My friends Chuck, Michael, and Daniel were waiting at the meeting place we’d arranged. I was so glad to see them, and my board!

  We spent the rest of the day enjoying the surf, sand, and sun. My dream of getting back to the beach with my friends finally came true!

  All too soon the sun set into an orange-colored ocean, and my friends went home. I don’t know why, but as I watched my friends leaving, I felt as though the childhood part of my life was coming to a close. It wasn’t a sad feeling, really. It just was.

  Chapter 5

  PowWOW!

  We were all up early the next morning. I could tell Nana, Pablo and Adrian had been through this routine many times. Each had a job to do to get the RV packed, closed up, and ready for the road.

  By nine o’clock we rolled into a nearby McDonald’s and had breakfast in the parking lot. And by noon we arrived at the Kumeyaay reservation’s RV campground. We were one of the early arrivals, so we got to pick a good place to park the RV.

  All through the day and into the night, others arrived at the grounds. Cars, pickup trucks, vans, campers, RVs—you name it. Native people showed up in every kind of vehicle.

  I tagged along behind Adrian as he meandered through the campsites visiting with friends he’d made over the years on the powwow trail. There were lots of them, and he introduced me to every one.

  That afternoon I followed Adrian to the powwow arena so he could check in. As we
went along he explained how things worked.

  Each dancer who wanted to participate in the dance competition had to pay an entry fee, register for a dance category and age group, and then get a number. Their numbers were printed on a square of paper that had to be pinned to their dance regalia. That way the judges would give the correct score to the right dancer.

  As I stood in line with Adrian waiting to register, more Indians of all ages came by to say hello to him. They came from tribal communities all over the state. I’d never seen so many different kinds of Indians in one place. For my brother, it was like a family reunion.

  “Where did you meet all these Indians?” I asked him after he’d registered.

  “At other powwows,” he said. “I’ve been doing this for at least four years. That’s one of the things I love about it. You make new friends from all over the place.”

  “The first Grand Entry will be at seven o’clock tonight,” the lady at the registration table said. We expect you to be lined up at the area’s eastern entrance and ready to go by six forty-five.”

  “I’ll be there with bells on,” Adrian said with a laugh.

  When we got back to the RV, Adrian pulled out several suitcases from the storage compartment. Each suitcase held some part of his dance regalia. It was fascinating to watch him take out all the pieces and put them on. He described each piece as he dressed.

  On the upper part of his body he put a bone breastplate over a Native-style ribbon shirt. He wore a breechcloth that covered a pair of black gym shorts that no one would see. A fringed apron with front and back panels hung from his waist.

  “I compete in the Men’s Traditional dance category, young adult division,” Adrian said as he slipped a pair of beaded moccasins on his feet. “Each dance style has its own type of regalia. You’ll see when everyone lines up for the Grand Entry.”

  While Adrian and I had waited in line, Nana cooked dinner for us. Now Adrian took a break from getting dressed just long enough to sit down and eat.

  All around us in the campground there were other families doing the same things we were. Some family members were putting on dance regalia. Others were cooking food or watching out for little children. The whole place was a beehive of activity. Everyone had a job to do or a place to be in order for the whole event to work.

  After a quick meal, Adrian went back to dressing. The next step was war paint. While looking in a mirror, he applied blue paint to his forehead. Then red and white vertical stripes covered the rest of his face. When the blue paint had dried, he went back and painted a series of white stars above his eyebrows. Now his face looked like a patriotic American flag.

  Then he slid on armbands and leg bands, followed by a pair of beaded cuffs that fit around his wrists. On his head he tied something he called a roach; it was made of long, stiff porcupine hairs that danced a little with each step.

  He wasn’t kidding about the bells, either. One of the last things he put on were two sets of round bells that had been sewn onto leather straps. He tied a leather strap to each ankle. When he took a step, the bells clanged.

  Finally, he tied a large feather bustle to his lower back. This was made of long, beautiful feathers arranged in a circle around a centerpiece. It looked like rays of light shooting out from the sun.

  When he was all dressed, Pablo pinned Adrian’s competition tag—number two forty-five—to the front of his regalia. It seemed like almost every inch of my brother was covered, from head to foot and front to back. The whole outfit reflected a red, white, and blue color theme. It was really spectacular.

  Nana took a picture with her smartphone of me and Adrian standing together.

  “What’s the prize if you win your dance category?” I asked, looking at the photo on Nana’s phone. I figured the winners would get a trophy or a blanket or something like that.

  “Cash prizes are awarded to the top three places in each category,” Nana answered. She picked up a poster from a nearby table that announced the Cahuilla powwow.

  “Cahuilla’s top prize for each category is one thousand dollars,” she said, showing me the prize money printed on the poster.

  I was speechless. A thousand dollars?

  “Each host tribe offers different amounts,” she continued. “Third place is usually two hundred fifty dollars.”

  “But if you aren’t in the top three places, you get zero,” Adrian added. “Just the feeling of knowing you’re part of a shared intertribal culture.”

  “Wow,” was all I could say.

  Pablo was keeping track of the time so Adrian wouldn’t be late for the Grand Entry lineup. At six thirty he said, “Vamonos,” and we all walked with Adrian toward the arena.

  The Kumeyaay powwow arena had been set up on the tribe’s baseball fields. There was a round center arena for the dancers. Around the edge of the arena were seats for the drummers and singers, with an additional row of seats for spectators. It looked like there were half a dozen drum groups set up.

  Beyond the arena seating were the booths where vendors sold every kind of Native food, clothing, jewelry, and artwork you could ever imagine. People were busy looking over all the things for sale.

  As we got close to the line of dancers, an announcer’s voice boomed over loudspeakers placed around the arena.

  “Calling all dancers,” the announcer said. “Grand Entry in fifteen minutes. Line up at the eastern entrance of the dance arena. Our arena director will make sure you get lined up in the right order.”

  I was amazed at how many dancers were showing up for the line. Men, women, boys, and girls of all ages were finding their places in the growing line. Their dance outfits presented splashes of wild color, frantic feathers, beads, blankets, and shawls.

  At the front of the line, a group of Native men and women in military uniforms were standing around chatting. Each held a flagpole or a long pole with feathers attached to it.

  “American Indian veterans always bring in the flags and eagle staffs at the front of the line,” Adrian said. “Honoring our warriors has always been part of the powwow tradition.”

  I just watched all of it come together. Seeing it for the first time had an impact on me I couldn’t explain. It felt like something inside of me was moving around, shifting. It was an exciting feeling.

  “Five minutes to Grand Entry,” the announcer’s voice bellowed from the loudspeakers. “Be there or be square,” he added with a laugh.

  “We’d better get to our seats,” Nana advised. “Earlier this afternoon Pablo set up our folding chairs on the far side of the arena.”

  She looked Adrian over one last time to be sure that every part of his regalia was in place. Then she gave him two thumbs up.

  “Thanks, Nana,” he said as she was leaving. “Love you.”

  “Love you more,” she said with a smile. I thought he would’ve been embarrassed by that coming from his grandmother, in front of all those people. But he wasn’t. I looked around and saw other family members making sure their loved ones were in the line of dancers. Generations of Native people were involved with each dancer.

  It was then that I realized that this powwow thing was more than just a hobby. More than just a way to pass the time. It meant something. It was very old, but still somehow very modern. I thought I might like to be a part of something like that.

  Nana and I got to our seats just as the drum started pounding and the Grand Entry song began. The beat grew louder and the voices gained strength as the veterans and the dancers filed into the arena one at a time. Something within that drumbeat was pulling at me. It might sound corny, but I’d even say it was calling to me.

  The line of people began to circle the outer edge of the dance arena, moving in a clockwise direction. All the spectators stood up to respect the American flag and the eagle staffs that led the way.

  The line continued around the arena. When the front of the line had completed one full circle, the leaders carrying the flags moved inward, but kept circling. This formed the first la
yer of a spiral as more dancers came into the arena and the line continued.

  What I was watching was hard to put into words. There was a lot to see and do my first night at my first powwow. All the sights, sounds, smells, and tastes flooded my brain. It was exhausting and exciting at the same time.

  The first round of dance competitions ran on for several hours that night. I paid close attention to each of the dance categories to see how they were different from each other. But it was all starting to boggle my mind.

  After a while I sat back in my chair and closed my eyes. I just listened to the sounds of the powwow as I sat with Nana and Pablo waiting for Adrian’s round to be called.

  Then finally the announcer said, “It’s time for the young adult Men’s Traditional competition. All dancers in this category make your way to the arena.”

  I perked up and focused back on the arena. Six dancers took up positions in the arena, including Adrian. Three judges stood nearby holding clipboards. The announcer gave the cue and the drum group started the song.

  The dancers in this category looked like they might have been hunters out in the woods searching for deer. Or they could’ve been warriors on the plains stalking an enemy. Their movements seemed to tell the story of some adventure they were experiencing. I thought Adrian was outstanding. He was like a time traveler from the past. He was showing me what life was like for my own ancestors.

  I leaned closed to Nana and said, “I think I want to do this.”

  “Really?” Nana said. “Why?”

  “I’m not sure. It’s just so intense. It seems like it would make you forget about everything else that was happening in your life.”

  I watched Adrian until his dance competition ended. All the dancers but one took their last step with the last beat of the song. That dancer took one extra step, and I could tell he wasn’t happy about it.

  They all froze there for a few moments, holding a final pose. Then the spectators applauded loudly.

  The announcer’s voice boomed over the loudspeakers. “Heeeee yah! Lookin’ good, dancers. It’s like watching an episode of Dancing with the Stars!”