Redleaf

    “Fielder” – the name given to us like initials carved on a tree. It was the English who branded it onto my Native American family. For my Sioux-Lakota family who lives under the beating sun in South Dakota, that imposed not just a name but a lifestyle. That lifestyle became an imprisonment that took us from the Great Plains and deposited us onto a reservation. Life on the reservation was a burden to us. That burden included, among others, alcoholism, battles with addiction, and unhealthy coping mechanisms. I am a young Lakota-Sioux female who was given a name generations ago to erase my Native American tradition and assimilate me into American culture. I intend to erase all the negative implications of Fielder and return to “Redleif.”

The Midwest’s hot, dry, and arid heat is known to create a severe depression within my family. Though Hollywood glorifies life on the reservation, everytime my family returns to the Dakotas a switch goes off. We immediately return to a world of abuse and deprivation and I become the little girl…

My grandfather lived on a reservation for his whole life; my father was fortunate enough to avoid it, however the scars left on my grandfather came to mark my dad. My dad suffered from my grandfather’s load of hardship because of the reservation. Despite moving away from the enervating heat in the Heartland of America, my dad’s family relocated to the intense heat of Arizona – repeating the mistake. As a little girl I always knew my dad had a temper, I questioned where this came from, yet I realized it’s because of growing up with his dad. He threw tantrums, scaring not only me, my mother, and my siblings, but it ended up affecting all sides of my family, scattering them all away. 

I’d often find him sitting down with drinks in hand, and growing up I thought this was normal. When I entered High School, however, I realized this was a problem – he became that stereotypic “Indian” on the reservation. I remember telling him that I don’t want to drink when I’m older and he responded with “That’s great to hear”  and in his tone I knew he realized his own problems – despite the drink he had in hand. With this I came to understand that his way of facing problems meant to run away from them.  Whether that meant drinking, or his refusal to get help, he decided to run away from what he thought was the problem – his heritage.  I believe the damage the reservation had caused my father, left him scarred, and the only thing he could blame was being Native American. 

My solution to my problems is to embrace them. That switch signifying misery that goes off on my family’s faces each time we visit the Dakotas, is for me a switch to peace. For me South Dakota is a world painted by pretty skies, grassy plains, small towns, animals, it is all beautiful – but we never touched the reservation. 

Unlike my dad, I put myself on a soapbox and embrace my blood. On that soapbox I speak about the life of trouble on the reservation and teach people about the misrepresentation. I advocate my Lakota-Sioux who suffered and decided substance abuse was the answer. I speak on behalf of not just the troubles my grandfather went through, but I speak for my dad. I speak for the kids who suffered from the issues instilled on them by their reservation parents. I advocate for the beauty of my heritage. I speak against the forced assimilation “Fielder” represents, I return to Redleif, my beautiful uncarved Redleaf family tree.