Part Time Indian

Apples

     I was the product of a project implemented through the Bureau of Indian Affairs that adopted

out as many Natives to Non-Natives homes in the 1950’s.   For me, this left a white print on my

childhood and guided my life into two worlds.  Other adopted children like me, found that even

though they were red on the outside, they were white on the inside.    Their minds and emotions 

for many have been white-washed, but for myself, the white print could not take away the

spirit of our ancestors.  

     Adopted by an older couple when I was about 4 years old, memories of my childhood is

pretty much a blur.  Although my adoptive parents did not abuse me, (like some Native

American adopted children) I cannot say that my white parents and I ever developed a bond.

The usual loving bond in “normal families” was not there.  I perhaps just did not realize, thus,

loving others has been a learned behavior.

    I began my transition out of my adoptive world into the next at age 12 ½ years old.    My 

sister and I had become more aware that we were different.  We were the only other non-whites

in a small town besides one black man named “Franklin”.   This kind of gave us a clue that

something was just not right.  My older sister had discovered adoption papers in our parents

closet, (a place that was off limits).  I will never forget that day she secretly called me in their

room, carefully took down the box and showed my these papers.  My “white eyes” were opened

and I began my journey on my own at age 13 years old.  I never looked back. 

     I was mad, confused and hurt.  Questions swelled in my mind.  Why?  But, more important,

why me?  The madness, confusion and hurt turned into a “rebel with a cause”.  I was

independent and no one would ever own me again!  I began to shed that “white print” and

learned to understand what an “apple” really was.  I was not white, but brown.  I still felt the

same, but was I really the same girl?  What was happening to me?  

     The placement into many foster homes, group homes became routine for me.  I would

runaway.  I became part of the Juvenile Justice system at 14 years old.  My need to look for something in

other families was so strong.  I searched to try and fit in, in many different families but, I never felt I was good enough or that I was accepted as a real family member. What was that need that I was searching for? 

      
It took decades of my life span before I finally found out what I was looking for when I ran away

from my adoptive home that day. 

It was love, from my own family!