11 J O U R N A L O F A M E R I C A N I N D I A N E D U C A T I O N — 5 7 , I S S U E 1 Indian Boarding Schools, Before and After: A Personal Introduction K. Tsianina Lomawaima, Editor, Special Issue “ Squirrels,” my dad declared, “love hard candy.” Ha! Indians! What acute observers of nature! Every spring at Chilocco Indian Agricultural School in the 1920s and 1930s, my dad and other boys would climb tall trees, into the big shaggy nests of leaves, and capture squirrel babies to raise. Oklahoma squirrels sport a semi- rare black color phase and my dad, Curt, and his friend Charlie were among the squirrel- raising elite at Chilocco. They knew where the black squirrel nests were, and they always had black squirrel pets. That made them special. You’re special! An Indian child growing up in a federal Indian boarding school rarely, if ever, heard that message. The institutions were designed, after all, to communicate to Indian children how not special they were, every hour of every day. My dad named the candy: all- day suckers— hard and shiny as glass. The little squirrel curled up in his shirt pocket during the day and every so often poked his head out for a shard of broken- up all- day sucker. I wonder what that felt like? The warm young squirrel curled up all day in the shirt pocket over his heart? Only young squirrels. My dad said, “You couldn’t keep them. Squirrels are wild animals after all and you can’t really tame them.” The day would always come when the squirrel was ready to go. The boys always let them go, and back they went, to the catalpa grove, to the big trees along Chilocco Creek. I wonder, was that part of the appeal? To be a temporary squirrel holder, for a few weeks out of all the weeks in the long year, and see the squirrel go free? “Squirrels,” my dad told me, “love hard candy.” My dad loved candy, too, especially chocolate- covered cherries. I wonder, when did he first taste a chocolate- covered cherry? Many questions rise up when we think about Indian boarding schools and Indian children and Indian nations. Does a question about chocolate- covered cherries seem an odd place to start? It certainly was not the 12 J O U R N A L O F A M E R I C A N I N D I A N E D U C A T I O N — 5 7 , I S S U E 1 first question that came to my mind in 1984, when I began to interview my dad and about 60 other survivors of Chilocco. I grew up with my dad’s stories of his childhood, as many children do. As many children do, I thought our family was normal. I believed my dad was brilliant, and loving, and handsome. He was all of those things. You’ll have to take my word on the first two, but you can see for yourself how handsome he was (Figure 5). Compared to other fathers of other children I knew in the mostly White public schools my sister and I attended, however, he was not “normal.” I was in my teens before I began to realize the full character of the institution he had survived, its impacts on him as an adult, and on our family as well. I was in my twenties, at least, before the realization began to sink in that his brother Robert had not survived (Lomawaima, 2016). The question about chocolate- covered cherries did not occur to me until about 4:00 a.m. on September 28, 2017, after I woke bolt upright out of a dream and sat down to write about my dad, about Chilocco, and about boarding school survivors in a very different way than I have written before. Some of those results are in this personal introduction. From sometime in 1984 to fall 2017: 33 years and change. About five and a half years after my dad died in early...
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