street roots
Dec. 21, 2012
To come and go as I please, between these two identities
BY LANIE GRIMM
When I am not home, all of their lives
are affected by my choices. When I am in
wake up frantic. It’s 9:39 a.m. and I’m
my home, I stay out of trouble, but as soon
late for school! I rush to get ready and
as I leave it’s like trouble comes looking for
be on my way. I get out of my warm,
me, screaming my name, “Lanie, come cause
cozy bed and I grab my clothes, my towel, some drama!” Whether smoking a blunt or
and I hop in the shower. The steaming hot
killing a half-gallon of vodka, I am usually up
water feels so good; I want to stay in there
to no good.
for hours, but I quickly wash up and hop
But when I attend school I don’t get
out.
pressured to hit the tree or to take a chug.
While getting dressed outside the
I am able to focus on school, my writing,
bathroom, I hear a ruckus. My mom is
my art, and I am somewhat able to contain
yelling to my little brother “Get your lazy
my thoughts. Coming to school, I always
butt out of bed and get on your way to
have a smile, because in truth, school is a
school, Nakai!”
place I am able to be me! I am able to be
It’s 10:07 a.m. and I am finally done
loved. It’s a moment of silence away from
getting ready. I walk outside into the crisp
my chaotic life. I know there are other kids
morning air, deeply inhaling the cold oxygen like me who also have been through tough
into my lungs. I walk up to the bus stop,
lives and like the fact that at school they to
number 25, arriving in two minutes. I light
can be appreciated.
up a cigarette, and begin to wait for the bus.
When I smile, I smile for me, I smile for
As I await the bus, I try to plan out my day.
my peers who haven’t had the best day or
Good mood? Bad mood? Emotional? I look
time, but they can look back and think, “All
forward to being there, angry with myself
the shit Lanie has been through, from rape,
for waking up late. All my friends, all the
murder, drug abusers, pushers, drunks,
faces, I’m just so ready to begin my day in
violence, etc., she still manages to smile and
this place of pure unadulterated joy.
laugh.” If I can do it so can you: that is what
This is my sanctuary, also known as
always runs through my mind when I hear
school.
that from people.
I’ve always missed days and always kind
As I walk through the red doors leading
of screwed up. People often ask, “Why do
into my escape, I am instantly happy and
you even bother coming?” I laugh and brush
know this is where I want to be. I want to
it all off, but in the back of my mind I think
learn, I want to focus, hear new insights and
I come because me at school is so different
perspectives of other people, adults, and
from me at home.
children. This is why I love school. Although
When I’m at school, my biggest troubles
sad to say, in my place of escape, I still get
are sitting down all day and getting my work
judged. It doesn’t affect me as much
done. Also, if altercations come up with any
because honestly, I’ve been through worse.
of the other students, I know not to let
Still, when people judge me, I get really
them bother me.
upset, and often my sorrow turns into anger.
Those worries are nothing compared to
I let it slide when people make comments of
the ones I am faced with when I arrive
“Why bother coming?” and I know, because
CONTRIBUTING WRITER
I
Lanie Grimm and
Destiny Robideau
are students at the
Native American
Family and Youth
Center’s Early
College Academy.
The Academy’s
Language Arts
class is partnering
with Street Roots.
After reading
Sherman Alexie’s
“Absolutely True
Diary of a Part
Time Indian,” the
students wrote
personal narratives
that reflected on
loss and change in
their lives.
h o m e. In m y h o m e I am th e reg u lato r, I
I com e w h en I can.
keep everyone on track even when I am not
doing so well myself. Living in my house are
my mom, two older sisters, one younger
brother, and one younger sister.
You think I am skipping and out having
fun? Think again! Because really I am
cutting, I am sleeping, I am crying, I am
scared, I am lost, but really I am just
confused. Often I worry how much I am able
to say at school about my home life. With all
the mandatory reporters I don’t want it
mistaken that the abuse I am recovering
from has come from my mother. She may
have her faults sometimes, but who doesn’t?
She is the strongest, most caring person in
the world to me, and as much as she tries to
protect me, I am stubborn and do what I
want. She does not place her hands upon
me in anger, but soothes me when I am
stressed. She places her hands upon me
with a loving manner. She does not
emotionally beat me down, but tries to bring
me up, she just wants me to do better for
myself, and I am coming to understand that
now.
I feel caught between two identities, but
things are looking up now. I have come to
learn that things happen in good and bad
ways, but no matter what the situation is
there are always lessons to be learned.
“Why bother coming to school?” I come
because I care about my education; I care
about what is to become of my life. I come
because I believe I deserve to be happy
every once in a while. I come because I
believe I am smart, that I can sometimes
help my fellow students when the teachers
are having a hard time. Although I am
young, I have been through a lot, and I too
am a teacher in my own ways.
I come because it is my decision. I come
because I want to. I come because I need
to. I come, to come.
Lesson learned. Please don’t judge
because of all my smiles and happy giggles.
You never would have known what truly
goes on. Being stuck between two identities
does not feel good. In a sense it makes you
feel fake somehow. You know whom I let
you know, you find o u t as m u ch as I let you.
I am done with being two people. Just
J’Laina Just Grimm.
Finally I realized I come because it is my
decision and not yours.
From beginning to end, in memory of Papa
BY D ESTIN Y ROBIDEAU
CONTRIBUTING WRITER
he day I was born, everyone in my
family came to see me. Everyone said
I was a little freaked out, I mean
come on, I was just born. With a thousand
people in my little baby face, of course I was
freaked out. My family passed me around
kissing my cheeks and going on and on
about what a perfect baby I was, even when
I was crying. Then my grandpa, Papa, got
me; he waved his fingers at me. I grabbed
one and stopped crying. He was the first
person to ever make me feel better. That
was the day I met my best friend.
A few things about my grandpa: He was a
strong, proud, and for the most part very
happy man. He was forgiving, as long as you
were honest. He served in the Vietnam War
and later became a Multnomah County
Sheriff, for nearly 24 years. He believed in
doing the right thing, no matter what it
made anyone say or think. He loved his wife
and family more than anything in the world.
Over the next seventeen years my family
went through hell and back. There were
fights, drugs, alcohol, prison, death, divorce
and marriage. Everything, you name it, our
family went through it. The whole time my
grandparents remained our family’s
backbone, holding us tall and strong.
I remember when I was 15, one of my
friends and I decided it would be a good
idea to get drunk at my grandparents house
while they were out of town. Well, long story
short, my mom found out. My punishment
was that I had to tell my grandma and Papa.
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I was terrified and so disappointed in
myself. My stomach was flipping, my hands
were sweating, I thought I was going to pass
out. This was the first “bad” thing I had
ever done. My mind and my heart were
racing.
“What if they don’t love me anymore?”
“What if they ban me from their house?”
When I sat down in the living room to tell
them, I was still thinking the worst. They
were disappointed. My grandma told me
that I should not have been drinking, that it
was dangerous and unhealthy. My grandpa
thought about it for a minute, looked me
right in the eyes and told me,
“Well I’m happy you did it here where you
were safe, but I’m angry that you were
doing it at all. Grandma and I forgive you
because we love you and we always will.”
My eyes filled up with tears when I
looked at them after that, that was the day I
became the most grateful to have my
grandparents in my life.
After that day, I tried never to disappoint
them again. (But I am a teenager. And as
much as we hate to admit it, we DON’T
know everything and we WILL make
mistakes. A lot of them.) So of course there
were times when I knew they were
disappointed in me, but they always pushed
me to be a better person for myself, and
they always believed in me; I never doubted
their love.
In December 2011,1 found out that my
Grandpa’s heart was deteriorating. It hit me
like a blow to my face. I didn’t know what to
do or think, so I moved into my
grandparents’ house so that I could be there
in case of an emergency. The doctors gave
him just a few months. He proved them all
wrong. By June though, he wasn’t doing well
at all.
Near the end of July I went to Washington
with some friends. I was supposed to be
gone for three days, but on the second day
my mom called me. I honestly don’t
remember that conversation. All I knew was
I had three hours to get back to Portland
and I was four and a half hours away. I was
frantic, I felt like I was going so fast but
everything around me was in slow motion.
We got to Portland in three and a half hours.
I ran into the hospital, I was almost positive
the nurse behind the check-in desk could
hear my heart beat. It was so loud and so
fast.
When I stepped into the room, it was as
crowded as the first time I met my Papa,
everyone was there. Except this time
everyone was there for a very different
reason. I stepped up to the bed and choked
on my own breath. He looked so small and
tired lying there. I looked at my family’s
teary-eyed faces. I could practically feel my
heart shattering. I sat next to him holding
his crystal-thin hand for almost three hours.
We sang to him and told him we loved him
and we prayed. That was the day I lost my
best friend.
Rest in peace, Fred Donald Michel.