Running Barefoot
Page 21
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“Do you think you could make me a copy of that tape?” Samuel said stiffly. I wondered why it was so hard for him to ask such a simple thing when I was so obviously his friend.
“Sure. Definitely,” I said brightly.
Samuel looked at me, his eyes troubled, and the joy of the music fading to a new concern. “I told you I wanted to go into the Marine’s, right?”
I nodded my head, waiting for him to continue.
“I’m scared to death.” He held my gaze fiercely, daring me to speak. I stayed silent.
“A Marine has to know how to swim....and I have been in a pool exactly twice in my life. I grew up on an Indian Reservation, Josie, herding sheep all summer long, not swimming. I can dog paddle sort of…” His voice trailed off.
“Why do you want to be a Marine, Samuel?” I was curious as to why, if he didn’t know how to swim, he wanted to try in the first place.
Samuel was quiet for a minute. When he answered I wasn’t sure he’d understood my question.
“My Shima, my Navajo grandmother, said when I was born she hung my umbilical cord on her gun rack because she knew I was going to be a warrior. It is a Navajo tradition,” he smiled briefly as my eyes widened.
“It’s a tradition to hang the umbilical cord on the gun rack?” I blurted incredulously.
“It’s tradition to save the umbilical cord and put it in a special place that will be important to the newborn child when they are grown. It can be buried in the corral if it is believed the child will have an affinity for horses. It can be buried in the cornfield if the child will make his living from the land or under the loom if the child is thought to have the gift of weaving. My grandmother said she knew I would have to struggle to find my way in two worlds, and I would need a warrior’s spirit. Originally, she buried it in her hogan so that I would always know where my home was. But she says it felt wrong and she prayed many days to decide where to place my umbilical cord. She said the hogan would not always be my home, and she dug it up and put it on the gun rack.”
I met his gaze, intrigued. He continued, “She believed I would follow in my grandfather’s footsteps.”
“Who was your grandfather?”
“My Navajo grandfather was a Marine.”
“I see ... so you’ve always thought you would be a Marine because your grandmother believed that was your destiny?
“I believe it is, too. I’ve dreamed about seeing other places... about belonging, being a part of something that had nothing to do with being Navajo or being white, or any other culture. If you make it through 12 weeks of Marine training, you’re a Marine - one of the ’few and the proud.” Samuel’s mouth twisted humorlessly as he quoted the slogan. “I don’t have any siblings - my mom remarried to a man who already had five children, so I have three step-sisters and two step-brothers, all older than me. I don’t know them very well, and I don’t especially like them - they call me ‘the white boy’ when my mother isn’t around. I want out, Josie. I don’t want to go back home to the reservation. I’m proud of my heritage, but I don’t want to go back...I do not want to herd sheep my whole life.”
“So....this swimming thing. Is that the only problem?” I said tentatively.
He looked at me sharply. “I’d say it’s a pretty major problem.”
“The school has a pool, Samuel. Can’t you learn? Isn’t there someone who would teach you?”
“Who?” Samuel gazed at me angrily, “Who Josie? When? You are such a child! I ride this bus for 40 minutes every morning and 40 minutes every afternoon. I have no way of getting to school early or staying late. I have no driver’s license, so even if Don would let me take the truck, I’m useless.”
“I’m not a child, Samuel!” He had turned on me so suddenly, and his anger made me angry, too. “Maybe you need to ask for a little help. Don’t be so stubborn! I’m sure someone at the school would be willing to teach you, especially if they knew why you needed to learn.”
“Nobody wants to help me, and I’d rather drown than ask anyone.” Samuel’s face was grim and his fists were clenched. “I’m sorry I called you a child. Just…forget it okay?”
We sat in silence the rest of the way into the school. I wondered why the music had made him think about being a Marine - maybe because Rachmaninoff made him feel powerful when he felt so powerless.
6. Impromptu
P.E. was mandatory in junior high. I had lived in fear of undressing in the locker room the entire summer leading up to seventh grade. I had horrible visions of having to shower in those open stalls, all of my skinny, prepubescent classmates staring at my private parts. I had nightmares of running through the locker room, bare naked, looking for a towel while everyone else stood fully clothed, gaping at me. Music by Wagner screamed through the dream.
Luckily, showering was not mandatory, and I brought a huge towel from home, kept it in my locker, and huddled behind it while I changed into my gym clothes every day. I had long legs and enjoyed running, but that was as far as my athletic prowess went. Organized sports were beyond me. I was more than slightly spastic. During our unit on basketball, I attempted to make a basket, throwing it as hard as I could at the hoop, only to have it rebound sharply off the backboard and smack me in the face, bloodying my nose and blackening my eyes. I hated dodgeball even worse, and jumping rope was an absolute joke. I usually ended up volunteering to turn the rope for everyone else or shag balls in order to avoid having to participate. I was consistently assigned to ‘work with’ the two mentally challenged girls that participated in gym class, not because I could actually help them athletically, but because I was nice. I have to say though, both of them could beat me hands down in dodgeball and basketball. They were better at jump rope, too.
“Sure. Definitely,” I said brightly.
Samuel looked at me, his eyes troubled, and the joy of the music fading to a new concern. “I told you I wanted to go into the Marine’s, right?”
I nodded my head, waiting for him to continue.
“I’m scared to death.” He held my gaze fiercely, daring me to speak. I stayed silent.
“A Marine has to know how to swim....and I have been in a pool exactly twice in my life. I grew up on an Indian Reservation, Josie, herding sheep all summer long, not swimming. I can dog paddle sort of…” His voice trailed off.
“Why do you want to be a Marine, Samuel?” I was curious as to why, if he didn’t know how to swim, he wanted to try in the first place.
Samuel was quiet for a minute. When he answered I wasn’t sure he’d understood my question.
“My Shima, my Navajo grandmother, said when I was born she hung my umbilical cord on her gun rack because she knew I was going to be a warrior. It is a Navajo tradition,” he smiled briefly as my eyes widened.
“It’s a tradition to hang the umbilical cord on the gun rack?” I blurted incredulously.
“It’s tradition to save the umbilical cord and put it in a special place that will be important to the newborn child when they are grown. It can be buried in the corral if it is believed the child will have an affinity for horses. It can be buried in the cornfield if the child will make his living from the land or under the loom if the child is thought to have the gift of weaving. My grandmother said she knew I would have to struggle to find my way in two worlds, and I would need a warrior’s spirit. Originally, she buried it in her hogan so that I would always know where my home was. But she says it felt wrong and she prayed many days to decide where to place my umbilical cord. She said the hogan would not always be my home, and she dug it up and put it on the gun rack.”
I met his gaze, intrigued. He continued, “She believed I would follow in my grandfather’s footsteps.”
“Who was your grandfather?”
“My Navajo grandfather was a Marine.”
“I see ... so you’ve always thought you would be a Marine because your grandmother believed that was your destiny?
“I believe it is, too. I’ve dreamed about seeing other places... about belonging, being a part of something that had nothing to do with being Navajo or being white, or any other culture. If you make it through 12 weeks of Marine training, you’re a Marine - one of the ’few and the proud.” Samuel’s mouth twisted humorlessly as he quoted the slogan. “I don’t have any siblings - my mom remarried to a man who already had five children, so I have three step-sisters and two step-brothers, all older than me. I don’t know them very well, and I don’t especially like them - they call me ‘the white boy’ when my mother isn’t around. I want out, Josie. I don’t want to go back home to the reservation. I’m proud of my heritage, but I don’t want to go back...I do not want to herd sheep my whole life.”
“So....this swimming thing. Is that the only problem?” I said tentatively.
He looked at me sharply. “I’d say it’s a pretty major problem.”
“The school has a pool, Samuel. Can’t you learn? Isn’t there someone who would teach you?”
“Who?” Samuel gazed at me angrily, “Who Josie? When? You are such a child! I ride this bus for 40 minutes every morning and 40 minutes every afternoon. I have no way of getting to school early or staying late. I have no driver’s license, so even if Don would let me take the truck, I’m useless.”
“I’m not a child, Samuel!” He had turned on me so suddenly, and his anger made me angry, too. “Maybe you need to ask for a little help. Don’t be so stubborn! I’m sure someone at the school would be willing to teach you, especially if they knew why you needed to learn.”
“Nobody wants to help me, and I’d rather drown than ask anyone.” Samuel’s face was grim and his fists were clenched. “I’m sorry I called you a child. Just…forget it okay?”
We sat in silence the rest of the way into the school. I wondered why the music had made him think about being a Marine - maybe because Rachmaninoff made him feel powerful when he felt so powerless.
6. Impromptu
P.E. was mandatory in junior high. I had lived in fear of undressing in the locker room the entire summer leading up to seventh grade. I had horrible visions of having to shower in those open stalls, all of my skinny, prepubescent classmates staring at my private parts. I had nightmares of running through the locker room, bare naked, looking for a towel while everyone else stood fully clothed, gaping at me. Music by Wagner screamed through the dream.
Luckily, showering was not mandatory, and I brought a huge towel from home, kept it in my locker, and huddled behind it while I changed into my gym clothes every day. I had long legs and enjoyed running, but that was as far as my athletic prowess went. Organized sports were beyond me. I was more than slightly spastic. During our unit on basketball, I attempted to make a basket, throwing it as hard as I could at the hoop, only to have it rebound sharply off the backboard and smack me in the face, bloodying my nose and blackening my eyes. I hated dodgeball even worse, and jumping rope was an absolute joke. I usually ended up volunteering to turn the rope for everyone else or shag balls in order to avoid having to participate. I was consistently assigned to ‘work with’ the two mentally challenged girls that participated in gym class, not because I could actually help them athletically, but because I was nice. I have to say though, both of them could beat me hands down in dodgeball and basketball. They were better at jump rope, too.
