Life on the Reservation

     As a little girl, I grew up listening to the stories of John White, a Native American storyteller of Cherokee descent who wove tales of turtles on the warpath and young warriors slaying bears, or old blind men saving the town all on their own. I would listen in rapture, over and over to the stories I knew all the endings to, each time more and more excited. My favorite story was of the crawfish who were terrorized by the raccoon who lived nearby, and the way that raccoon tricked those crawfish, and the brave warrior crawfish who saved them all.
     These stories pretty much sum up my general feeling about Native American life, or at least how I picture it. I've always seen it as this wonderful thing, so cultured and beautiful, every tool and food made by hand - I suppose the stereotypical idea of what Native American life was like. I have no idea. I can only imagine that before the White people came and screwed it all up, things probably weren't all bad. But thinking about what the Europeans did when they came, and every nasty thing they brought with them, it kinds of shatters that perfect picture with a blindingly harsh reality. Once the states became the United States, things began to change. Alcoholism was a big problem. The Native Americans were introduced to things they had never seen before in their lives. Eventually, that cultural beauty they had possessed began to disintegrate. As time went by, reservations became less and less common, and life on the reservations probably became more and more difficult. I can't pretend to really know anything about the subject, but I don't imagine there are many people who fully and completely embrace their Native American roots today. It makes me sad to think that a once so beautiful culture is being shoved aside by what is in my opinion a not nearly as beautiful culture.