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I was raised with the
teaching: Children in subjection to their the mother and father, mother in
subjection to her husband, husband in subjection to the Christ and Christ
in subjection to the Father. It wasn’t a weighty principle but was one to
give freedom for everyone involved. However, when my sister gave me
information she had received from an Osage girl that her tribe was taking
applications for housing this was a time for me to make a decision. All
the times I had stood at the moment of truth caused me to put my children
and their father in a place where they could be protected should I not be
with them. These were the reasons I listed when I spoke with the director
of the Osage Housing then called H.U.D.
“I’m Ponca but my land is
in the Osage. Do you think it will be possible to be granted housing?” I
wanted to know.
“This will make the
difference.” He told me as he tapped the paper showing I owned my land.
You will be put on a waiting list and because this is under the Osage
tribe those of their people will have to be given the first opportunities
for housing.
This was the year of 1976
and so began the most difficult juggling acts ever to be confronted in my
entire life. Before, I was charging, going forward against powers but in
an individual way. This was not against authorities but I was pitted
against the under penning’s of a cultural history that had held a quiet,
unnamed war between Native American and so many tribes of Europe it would
be impossible to name them all. The resulting sub-culture had grown up
like Topsy who felt no one could love them. I was unbelievably naive when
I aligned myself with a tribe and took on that game with no rules as is in
a formal battle.
Embracing a love for my
Creator and his son who taught me from childhood through my earthly father
that love holds no place for prejudice was the only way we struggled
through it. If I was new to all the trials at least I was a teen-ager to
it. My husband was a babe in every respect of the word. When I think of
the slights and slings he suffered it makes me sad, not angry. His
parent’s faith and mine were in agreement on standing against fear in
association of races and I believe the God who takes care of all of us
enlightened them on that issue. They always treated me with great respect
and as a Witness I will stand to testify before God on that and wait with
my love I had for them to enjoy their resurrection.
The tolerance for injustice
was harder to maintain for the people of the Flood family. But only two or
three generations ago their’s was the genes going back to the Danes, off
shoots of the Vikings. Their loyalty to God, truth, country, was
unbreakable and had served the royalty of England with bended knee but
then, arose to stand in another place and that was America.
Here I was, not strong
physically, trapped in a place where I was dealing with all these thorns.
The Osage, once mighty warriors, were now educated and intelligent I
managed by practicing what I had learned, “The meek shall inherit the
earth.” Not only did I practice it but I stood between my husband and any
confrontation he might make in regards to some minor issue or another. It
just didn’t happen. I did not allow it.
Rhonda was seventeen when
we moved into our new home.
“How about this classy
ramp, Rhonda?” I joked with her because she had used a rickity, home made
one for years at her great-grandmother’s house. “Wait until you see the
extra wide doors all over the house and especially the bathrooms. No more
battling to get your chair through a door. And guess what, you have your
own room and bathroom so you can just slide your wheelchair right into the
shower.”
Rhonda’s smile and the
twinkle in her eyes as she whipped around the house in her wheelchair made
all the sweat equity, issues that will remain unnamed, crude remarks even
from some family members all like so much confetti and we just blew it
away and off our shoulders. |
