My grandma Vesta used to be an exceptional education teacher in my hometown when I grew up. I remember being 4 years old, and sitting with the kids that my grandmother taught, and the same memory surfaces every time. It is of me, licking a red Popsicle and staring at a mentally handicapped child eating the same. However, I had been to the school of hard knocks for getting the front of my shirt dirty, and by four years, I had learned that this was a "no, no." I must have been amazed at the amount of Popsicle drool that the child I was staring at was producing because I couldn't take my eyes off him. My grandma gave me a light tap on the back of the head and faced me, questioning, "What are you doing looking at him like that? Stop staring. There isn't anything wrong with him. He's just special." Being a mother to an autistic 3-year-old, this learning experience comes to mind often. Sometimes, I think of Grandma Vesta's words when...
Native American author, fictional and academic. Thoughts, philosophies, and interpretations from a Native Lakota Sioux Woman's Perspective.