My Empty Past

It was a hot, searing day as the sun beat down on my skin. The lush green palm trees provided me shade as I sat and observed my surroundings. Children, barefoot and dirty, wearing tattered and stained clothes were running around laughing and playing. Their joyous giggles put a smile on my face and warmed my heart as I watched them.

Shortly after Saul's arrival at the school, he witnesses a boy being denigrated for his identity. Sister Ignacia, a nun, insults his father and accuses that “ ‘ He’s a trapper.’ ‘He's a heathen.’ ‘He's Ojibway.’ ‘He is unbaptized and impure of spirit” (Wagamese, 45). The school denounces the First nations as impure, primitive and savage and as a result the kids feel inhuman and shameful about who they are. In addition to change the ways of the Aboriginals, the priests and nuns create harsh punishments. For instance, “A boy named Curtis White Fox had his mouth washed out with lye soap for speaking Ojibway. He choked on it and died right there in the classroom” (48). The residential schools have one cruel motive, which is to remove the “Indian” from the Aboriginal children and will go to any extent to eliminate their language and heritage, even if it costs the lives of many. One rare afternoon, Saul and a few other kids are able to visit a creek by the school, as they admire the lively fish swimming in the water,

The story is a recount of bullying, told from the point of view of Davy Morne, who describes himself as one of the worst of the bullies. The victim is Herbie, the only indigenous kid at the school, who is brutally bullied for being noticeably different; because he has strong Indigenous features. He is described, “as black as a crow,” imagery which reinforces this difference, as does the language in words like “Boong”, “Nigger” and “Abo”, words which appear in the opening sentences, grabbing the reader’s shocked attention and compelling the reader to continue because how can anyone get away with such brazenly, racist language. Archie Weller excelled throughout the course of this story in his use of imagery: every sentence carried a vivid imagination, from the description of Herbie, his bullies or his torture and all this was cleverly done from the point of view of young Davy Morne.

The article, “The lonely death of Chanie Wenjack,” by Ian Adams describes the horrific and forlorn lives that many Indigenous children faced in residential schools. However, this story focuses on the lonely young boy, Charlie Wenjack, who took his last breath in the attempt to escape the hatred towards his culture and find his father. As Adams stated, “This, then, is the story of how a little boy met a terrible and lonely death, of the handful of people who became involved, and of a town that hardly noticed”(Adams, 1967). Charlie grew to be empty and rejected, longing for the love of his father. He devised a plan to run away from school with his two friends: Ralph and Jackie MacDonald. Wenjack was on a mission to travel the 400 miles on foot

A young Aboriginal boy by the name of Arnold throws a textbook at a teachers face at his residential school… After that event his life changes he decides to transfer to Reardan High an all white school in a farm town outside his reservation. This courageous act from an “Indian boy” on Arnold’s reservation has never been seen or done before, Arnold is trying to break the mold. The book “The Absolutely True Diary of A Part-Time Indian” by Sherman Alexie explores the life of Arnold an Aboriginal boy whose whole life has been lived in poverty on a reservation. Which is then thrown into the polar opposite environment, Reardan High in hopes of getting a higher education and escaping the alcoholism and unemployment that most adults that grew up

about and the aboriginal kid that got forced to go to and residential school by the government. The kid's name is Red Wolf . They know he has to go to the school because and an aboriginal person that part of the government took them. So When we go to the school the first t

We arrived at our destination… so I took my headphones out, and I put my iPhone away. I stepped off of the bus to see a large brick school building with some bricks missing and multiple cracked windows illuminated by light bulbs glowing brightly in classrooms full of innocent children. I began walking to the entrance of the school, trying to avoid the large cracks in the sidewalk that were filled with ice on this bitter December day. Snow was falling and the bitter cold and my new surroundings were shaking me to the core.

The people worship, kids attend school, and adults work. The heat is unbearable, adding to the weariness of the town. The activity is quite monotonous; everyone does the same thing each day. When it rains, the roads turn to “slop,” grass grows on the sidewalks, and the buildings sag. The people are always tired because of the heat.

The structure of this piece is an expository essay, that is trying to send the message that identity may only determine where we belong. When the reader reads this piece my intention is for them to feel they are also in these positions and don't know how to react to these circumstances. When reading the section about Wild Cat Falling I hope that it sheds some light on the situations that a lost boy of aboriginal descent may feel when they don't know where to belong. This feeling should also be felt when reading the section about the Stolen generation there is some vivid images of what could happen if one was involved in the stolen generation and it opens people's eyes to the reality of the stolen generation. On a lighter note the use of the

It was soon the end of August which meant school was right around the corner. I wasn’t too excited, but I was a little anxious to see what God had in store for me. We hopped in the car, and were on the way. I walked into my new school, Country Day, and acknowledged the wind carried the sound of the chitter-chatter of my fellow classmates, lockers slamming as hard as nails and the howling of the spider-monkey. The halls were outdoor and you could see the never ending mountains and feel the gentle breeze swaying back and forth. I enjoyed the first day and couldn’t wait to go back for more. Throughout the day, I met someone special, someone who would soon to be my best friend, partner in crime, my other half, Sibley. She helped me see the good in situations and inspired me to be outgoing and carefree. Our families became best friends and went on adventure after adventure together. The year

I’ve travelled all over this town, yet I have never seen this school before. After all, in small towns like ours, everyone knows everyone and everything about them. It’s the worst way to end my precious summer break; leaving the school I love so much along with my friends and moving to this abandoned place where all the kids fear to go. Rumour has it that the teachers here are mad. They feed off of the innocent children’s blood who dare to step foot in this dreadful place. I might be the next victim.

In every direction I turn my head my eyes are greeted by the mass collection of hospitable pine trees, a cooling breeze making their deep emerald needles sway along, producing the warm aroma I could recognize from anywhere. As I’m sitting between the large worn rusty rails that run parallel to each other for miles I can feel the ballast against the bottom of my legs preparing to leave an temporary indention on my skin to reveal how I’ve sat, the sun is stooping below the treeline after bidding it’s final goodbyes until morning breaks. I am where I belong, where I’ve always known. I am home. This is not where I store my household objects such as my twin sized bed, my neon green and white toothbrush, or the wide variety of sentimental objects hanging from the crimson red walls of my bedroom, but it is home to so many memories from every point in my life. Here I sit at on the railroad tracks that produce the Gurdon Light, not scared, just reminiscing on all the memories I have gathered from this one simple piece of my hometown. I did not come here to thrive off the buzz it furnishes children with at night who fear contact with the light, or to bring a love interest with hopes of getting lucky enough to score a kiss, or with numerous cameras attempting to visually record the mysterious object this town thrives off of. I am here to plainly pay my respects to this site that has been so crucial to

The school he attends when he is a little older is a school by any means, but there is great turmoil. Often the older boys pick on the younger ones and while this may be brought to the attention of the director (the principle, headmaster etc.) the older boys would be punished but it would be so overlooked that as soon as they were finished being punished, they would return from their beatings and give them back tenfold to the young boys who told on them. This section is actually one of my favorite parts.

When I was growing up, I remember my family situation as extremely chaotic. I was one of eight children and my father and mother had little time to devote to me individually. Most of the time they spent trying to earn enough to support us with their meager resources. I was often called upon to act as a surrogate mother to my siblings. I felt I had little time to develop my own unique perspective and voice when I was very young. Even as a preschooler I remember doing chores to help out at home. However, this situation did foster some positive aspects of my character. I learned to be mature at an early age and gained a sense of competence because of my responsibilities. But I also was taught put the needs of others second to my own. I feel that I did not learn to value my own, legitimate desires to an adequate degree as a young girl and have only recently acquired a true sense of worth [THESIS].

Hard life does not equal reason for failure, but reason for determination. Even though it may seem with so much bad you are bound to fail, with all of my bad I'm bound to succeed. I have been through a lot in life, just as every single mother but I still have what it takes for my future success. Do you have what it takes for a brighter future?