Three Things
1. Robin
Robin Mongoyak came up to me today at the Inupiat Heritage Center and told me he wanted to bring his sister into StoryCorps. I asked if his sister lived in Barrow, and it took just this small question to make him open up – Robin’s sister is, in fact, his mother. When he was born, his mother gave him up to her parents to raise. It was around age three or four when his “mother” started saying, “See your sister? She’s really your mother.” But Robin said he didn’t want to believe it so pushed it to the back of his mind. As he got older, he started noticing that all of his friends had grandparents and wondered why he didn’t. But he never asked his parents because he had a sneaking suspicion of what they’d say. Robin says he’s lucky though because he was constantly surrounded by older people, people his “parents” age, who were wiser.
Robin said his biological father was white, or “tanik” as the Inpiat would say (pronounced tah-nek), and this is why his grandparents (or his parents) forbade his mother (or his sister) to marry. He’s never met his father but he knows his name and Googles him every so often. Robin knows that his biological father is an appraiser, lives in Anchorage, married, and has six kids. When I asked Robin if he’s ever tried to contact him, he says no. Robin says if his father wanted to find him, then his father could, easily.
Robin is 38 years old and he’s not bitter. You’d think after hearing these things about him, he might be. But he described all of this to me without anger and he wasn’t faking it. If anything, he just seemed sad about his father. But he doesn’t seem like a man with regrets. Robin is perfect for StoryCorps; stories just pour forth from his mouth with hardly any provocation.
2. Eskimo Dancing
In honor of Inuit Day, which is today, the Inupiat Heritage Center hosted Eskimo Dancing.
3. Lloyd
I don’t know Lloyd’s last name. He told it to me but it was Inupiat and I have trouble hearing those names and knowing how they are spelt. It wasn’t one of the last names I’ve grown accustomed to, like Brower or Hobson or Leavitt or Nageak. I’m sure whatever his last name is, is another popular Barrow name that I’m just not that familiar with yet.
Lloyd was sitting in the front row for Eskimo Dancing. When I arrived, the seats weren’t filled yet. There was no one sitting in the front row except for Lloyd, but I still sat in the row behind him, which was also empty. Since moving to Barrow, I have this constant fear of breaking cultural norms. I somehow thought that the first row was reserved for elders. As we were waiting for the dancing to start, as people were still filing into the room, Lloyd turned and smiled at me. I smiled back and we started talking, enough for me to ask if it was okay if I sat next to him. He said I should, so I did. He told me he had just celebrated a birthday on Monday; Lloyd just turned 89. I said something stupid like, “Wow,” and then asked, “Did you ever think you’d live to see 89?” (I had to say almost everything twice), and he laughed and said no. He had more small chitchat and then he asked me where the bathroom was. I walked him to it. As expected, he was a pretty slow-moving guy. But he returned and we sat together for the show. I was happy I moved up to the front row because the others who ended up filling the row were smaller children or teenagers. It was one of those things where the crowd was large but no one wanted to sit in the first two rows.
Lloyd said a few things during the dancing, almost all of which I couldn’t hear, but I still smiled and he smiled back. For some of the dances, people in the audience would join in. As many of them passed our row to return to their seats, they stopped for a brief moment, shook Lloyd’s hand, and wished him a happy birthday.
When the Eskimo Dancing was over, Lloyd and I exchanged good-byes and he said, “Thanks for sitting with me.” I think that’s the nicest thing anyone in Barrow has yet to say to me.
Robin Mongoyak came up to me today at the Inupiat Heritage Center and told me he wanted to bring his sister into StoryCorps. I asked if his sister lived in Barrow, and it took just this small question to make him open up – Robin’s sister is, in fact, his mother. When he was born, his mother gave him up to her parents to raise. It was around age three or four when his “mother” started saying, “See your sister? She’s really your mother.” But Robin said he didn’t want to believe it so pushed it to the back of his mind. As he got older, he started noticing that all of his friends had grandparents and wondered why he didn’t. But he never asked his parents because he had a sneaking suspicion of what they’d say. Robin says he’s lucky though because he was constantly surrounded by older people, people his “parents” age, who were wiser.
Robin said his biological father was white, or “tanik” as the Inpiat would say (pronounced tah-nek), and this is why his grandparents (or his parents) forbade his mother (or his sister) to marry. He’s never met his father but he knows his name and Googles him every so often. Robin knows that his biological father is an appraiser, lives in Anchorage, married, and has six kids. When I asked Robin if he’s ever tried to contact him, he says no. Robin says if his father wanted to find him, then his father could, easily.
Robin is 38 years old and he’s not bitter. You’d think after hearing these things about him, he might be. But he described all of this to me without anger and he wasn’t faking it. If anything, he just seemed sad about his father. But he doesn’t seem like a man with regrets. Robin is perfect for StoryCorps; stories just pour forth from his mouth with hardly any provocation.
2. Eskimo Dancing
In honor of Inuit Day, which is today, the Inupiat Heritage Center hosted Eskimo Dancing.
3. Lloyd
I don’t know Lloyd’s last name. He told it to me but it was Inupiat and I have trouble hearing those names and knowing how they are spelt. It wasn’t one of the last names I’ve grown accustomed to, like Brower or Hobson or Leavitt or Nageak. I’m sure whatever his last name is, is another popular Barrow name that I’m just not that familiar with yet.
Lloyd was sitting in the front row for Eskimo Dancing. When I arrived, the seats weren’t filled yet. There was no one sitting in the front row except for Lloyd, but I still sat in the row behind him, which was also empty. Since moving to Barrow, I have this constant fear of breaking cultural norms. I somehow thought that the first row was reserved for elders. As we were waiting for the dancing to start, as people were still filing into the room, Lloyd turned and smiled at me. I smiled back and we started talking, enough for me to ask if it was okay if I sat next to him. He said I should, so I did. He told me he had just celebrated a birthday on Monday; Lloyd just turned 89. I said something stupid like, “Wow,” and then asked, “Did you ever think you’d live to see 89?” (I had to say almost everything twice), and he laughed and said no. He had more small chitchat and then he asked me where the bathroom was. I walked him to it. As expected, he was a pretty slow-moving guy. But he returned and we sat together for the show. I was happy I moved up to the front row because the others who ended up filling the row were smaller children or teenagers. It was one of those things where the crowd was large but no one wanted to sit in the first two rows.
Lloyd said a few things during the dancing, almost all of which I couldn’t hear, but I still smiled and he smiled back. For some of the dances, people in the audience would join in. As many of them passed our row to return to their seats, they stopped for a brief moment, shook Lloyd’s hand, and wished him a happy birthday.
When the Eskimo Dancing was over, Lloyd and I exchanged good-byes and he said, “Thanks for sitting with me.” I think that’s the nicest thing anyone in Barrow has yet to say to me.
posted by Siapiau | 11:25 PM
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