Friday, November 5, 2010

They Call Me Little Fish

Or just Fish... Or Fishie, depending. Almost everybody calls me one or the other, except for my mother for some reason. I can't remember a time where she actually called me "Fish" lol It's always just been Felicia to her. Then again, she's in love with my name.

So, I was born in Niagara Falls, New York. I don't remember much of it except for a dead and bloody deer laying on our kitchen table when I was about three. Sad to say, I can't find the picture of it... or maybe it's not sad to say. Who wants to see a dead deer in a kitchen??

This is me when we lived in Buffalo. It seems that my mother could never get enough of dressing me up in frilly things, especially if said frilly things were PINK. I despise the color now. Hmm, I wonder why, Mom? Thankfully in this picture though, I'm in a different color other than the awful color of pink.

I suppose you could call me contradictory now though. At least slightly... I may hate the damn color, but I can't help but to buy my niece pink, frilly dresses now! My mother would always say that while they're young and don't really care, you might as well dress them how you want to because you may never see them in cute things when they're older. Like me. I was the girl in torn up shorts, running around bare foot and falling out of trees. There's also an instance of which I remember getting hit in the face with a baseball... or was that the Frisbee...? Either way, I was an accident prone kid. Luckily, I'm not quite a target for bad luck anymore, at least not physically. I still get my share of bad luck with unexpected bills or important things in the apartment breaking.

If you don't know me very well, then I should start out by saying in this paragraph that my mother and I are close. Pretty much like best friends... except some things, she wishes I wouldn't tell her. But, it's just tough luck for her. I'm gonna tell her anyway ;)

My mother and I have been close for as long as I can remember. We may not have interests in exactly the same things, but generally we both like the same stuff.

Up above, my mother is wearing Buffalo Bills winter gear. I think. Or maybe she just found an old blue coat and red mittens--the colors of the Buffalo Bills--so she could show some spirit for her favorite football team. And when I say favorite... I MEAN favorite. You should hear her scream "GO! GO! GO!" at the television screen. It scares the hell outta my dog, and it scared the hell outta me when I was little. I'm surprised that she hasn't gotten to the point where she paints her face red and blue during game days ;)

Like I said before, I don't remember much of New York except for that dead deer... but when I was four, we made a trek--of which included an episode I had with my Uncle Luke because I was coloring a lion in my coloring book with HIS permanent marker (Needless to say, he wasn't a very happy uncle by the end of that trip after dealing with me)--across the United States to Utah. My family lived there until I was nine years old, and then we made one final trip to my mother's final destination of the West. She had been dreaming about living out here ever since she was a little kid, so I can say that she is VERY happy living out here in her mid-19th century home that has no foundation and is currently sinking into the ground.

I'm twenty by the way. And an American Indian if you haven't guessed. I'm just a little bit less than half, but hey... nobody here is judging my blood quantum or making a big deal of whether I'm a "real Native" because of how light my skin is compared to others. Some people I've met get really hostile over it, but the people here at the University of Idaho are probably the most relaxed people I know. It's not like being a little less than half is my fault anyway. It's nobody's fault, really. It's just how things happened, and I'll never put the blame on anybody for how much (or how little) Native blood that I have. I'm proud. And that's all that matters. Right?

And now, it's late... and I believe I've said enough. Or maybe not. I can never shut up, whether it's in writing or in real life. You can blame my mother for that one though.

1 comment:

  1. Very well said. Thanks for the smiles and laughs. As for the blame...I'll take that as a compliment that at least I did something right! Love you!