brentw's blog

I guess you can call me an Urban Indian. I grew up in the city of Thunder Bay, so it makes sense. But back when I was young, that distinction never seemed to be made, especially in our little part of northern Ontario where travel was frequent between reserves, towns and the only city in the area.

I grew up with cousins who were straight off the rez, their influence strong. But usually, I was mixing with my non-Native classmates. Even then I was still distant from this group, never quite fitting in. If a Native kid ever joined my class, we’d always get along straight off the bat. More often than not, however, they never seemed to last long at the school. I can only assume they headed back to the rez with their family.

Anyway, my point is simple. Despite growing up in the city, I often interacted with other Native folk, whether from the rez or others growing up in the city.

But something nagged at me. Something never seemed right. I didn’t know what it was when I was a kid, but it left me feeling empty. It seems to have ties to a simple question. It’s a question other Native people ask each other all the time when meeting for the first time: “Where are you from?”

When I was younger, when the judgmental ways of the world had little impact on me, I often responded by saying I was born in Toronto or I was from Thunder Bay. However, the cynicism of the world took its toll. As I grew into adolescence I struggled with identity. I questioned who I really was, where I really came from, what place do I have in the world. Tough questions for a young person to deal with.