Navigating Two Worlds: A Maine Native’s Journey of Identity and Remembrance
A poignant reflection on cultural identity and family history reveals the challenges faced by a mixed-race Native American growing up in Maine, and the enduring power of tradition in reclaiming a sense of belonging.
Growing up, the arrival of November signaled more than just the start of hunting season and colder weather. It meant evenings spent around the table wiht family,playing Rummy 500,sipping Red Rose tea,and enjoying luskinikn – a time of warmth,reflection,and connection. “It’s a time of year that consistently feels like a return to normal after the sweltering heat of summer,” one individual recalled,describing the comforting rhythm of those early winter evenings. These were moments steeped in storytelling,where his father and grate uncle would share memories of their upbringing.
He was fortunate to listen, learning about his great-grandparents’ journey from a reservation in Nova Scotia to becoming farmhands in Aroostook County, Maine, and ultimately settling in southern Maine – the place he now calls home. These stories illuminated not just how they lived, but what it meant to be Native within their family.”I loved those nights,” he stated, a sentiment that continues to draw him to the first frost and the comforting glow of a wood stove.
However, the tranquility of home contrasted sharply with the experience of attending school. As an “off-res,” mixed Native child, he grappled with a profound duality – a conflict between the identity nurtured within his family and the one imposed by the outside world. This internal struggle was acutely felt when he looked in the mirror, questioning his place in those cherished family narratives as a fair-skinned child with blue eyes. The feeling of being an outsider was reinforced daily, symbolized by the imposing 10-foot “Arundel Indians” mascot plaque in his school hallway. “The Indian I was at home wasn’t the boy I was at school,” he explained, highlighting the stark disconnect between his two worlds.
The 1990s curriculum offered a limited and often inaccurate portrayal of Native American history, focusing almost exclusively on Western tribes and perpetuating harmful stereotypes. The Mi’kmaq people, his ancestors, were largely absent from the narrative. When his Native identity was acknowledged, it was frequently enough met with disbelief and the assertion that he “didn’t look like an Indian,” based on depictions in Westerns and textbooks.This constant invalidation led him to silence himself, eventually internalizing the shame and separating his personal life from his family’s stories. He found solace in the familiar rituals of tea, cards, and hunting with his father and uncle, but this life felt incongruous with the prevailing societal expectations of what it meant to be Native.
It was a long and arduous process to “unlearn that shame and learn to be proud,” he admitted.
The selection of the film Powwow Highway to accompany his grandmother’s luski recipe is no accident. He was drawn to its distinctly 1980s aesthetic, reminiscent of the films playing on the CRT console TV in his uncle’s apartment during those same card games. “There’s a comfort there that I can’t quite put my finger on, but it has a unique ability to transport me back to those days,” he said, emphasizing the film’s power to evoke a sense of nostalgia and belonging. The film, and the recipe, serve as a tangible link to a past that was both cherished and complicated, a testament to the enduring strength of family and the ongoing journey of self-discovery.
