The Yellow Crayon

If you are new to this thread, you should read the next one first - "I Am Not White"
Also...the blog is automatically linking to sights (the word pink) that I do not support or suggest. please do not click on any links in the text of my posts. 
And so...
The first time I was in the position to "teach" Navajo children was Children's Church at the Mission. Word got out that the Mission Church had a new pastor, and since his wife was experienced in children's ministry, the bus started rolling again, picking up kids from the "REZ". This made me nervous, because the bus driver just stopped and opened his doors and kids piled in. I don't think the parents had any idea where their kids were for the 2 hours we had them.
The kids sat quietly during worship time, not disrupting, not participating, and before the sermon they were dismissed to the fellowship hall for snacks and a Bible lesson. My initial impression of theses beautiful little people, ranging in age from 4 to 14, was that they were  fine examples of the "Stoic Indian." Names and gender posed a problem. I knew better than to judge their gender by the length of their hair. That cute little 4 year old with the long braids and turquoise earrings could easily be a boy or girl. And when asked their names they answered so quietly, I could never make it out. They weren't the names I expected...you know...things like "Sitting Bear" or "Laughing Fawn".  There was a Percyanna, Jolisa, Floyd and Floydina.
My first lesson was on prayer...talking to God. Probably not the best place to start. I had a few coloring pages to illustrate the main points of the story, and gave the kids a choice of which one to color after the story. I had a picture of  Jesus praying in the garden, a family praying around a table, people praying in church and a little girl kneeling beside her bed with her hands folded and head bowed. What surprised me about this activity is that every little girl, about 7 of them, choose the little girl kneeling at her bed, and every little girl colored the little girl's hair with a yellow crayon. I was coloring too, the same picture. I used the black crayon for the hair and colored the skin a light shade of brown. But as I looked around the table, I noticed, all the skin was pink and all the eyes were blue, except for the four year old - who turned out to be a boy, and who favored the green and purple crayons. I later mentioned my observation to the missionary, who had warned me that they would never really like me, because I was white...and he said they did it to please me. But I had brown hair (it's grey now).  I had a challenge in front of  me. Not only to get them to see me as person and not a color, but to help them see themselves as beautiful children of God, made in His image and Likeness.
Hey you guys, don't you realize that Jesus looked more like the Native Americans than the Europeans? Jesus had black hair and dark shin. And Adam was made from the red soil of Edan. I've seen black dirt and brown dirt, and red dirt. I've never seen white dirt, at least not in a healthy abundant garden. In the Song of Solomon, the "princess" says she is black (dark skinned) and lovely.
Epilogue to this essay:  I teach Reading and English in a public school on the Rez now. My students usually know I'm a Christian, though of course I don't share me faith at school. A few years back one of my mid-school boys was rapping as he walked into my room, and the lyrics he was singing included the phrase "black Jesus". He stopped short when he saw me, and said "Sorry, Mrs. Brokop...I mean "white Jesus."
"Jesus wasn't white" I answered...and the shocked  look on his face spoke volumes.

I Am Not White

Being a child of the 60's (who is rapidly approaching the age 60), I've always considered myself sensitive to racial issues and civil rights. I grew up in a lower middle class neighborhood, was educated in parochial schools, and  never thought about the fact that I was white. The first time I realized that someone was thinking of me as white was on an Indian Reservation somewhere in Montana. A friend and I were sitting at a snack-bar in a chapter house and the other people at the counter were staring at us. I saw the question, "what are you doing here" in their dark eyes and I had this strong urge to say..."But I'm 1/16th Indian." (Isn't everybody?) That was in the 70's. Twenty odd years later I found myself in Farmington, New Mexico - getting ready to "work with the Indians." I was very excited and extremely curious. I knew a lot about the northeastern tribes, but very little about the Navajo. Driving through the reservation, the largest in the USA, fascinated me. My husband and I were called to work on an Indian Mission. A relic of a place, with a tiny church and long history. This was an nonsalaried position, so I would have to find a job teaching. That was 14 years ago. I am about to start another school year, teaching reading on the "REZ". I don't claim to be an expert on "Educating the Indian," but I've learned a lot.
I hate the fact that my students see me as white. I am not white. I am not a color.
They may say I'm a "biligana (sp). That's what Navajo call us non-natives. The word is understood as meaning "white" but in fact, it is the Navajo word for "enemy". I don't much care for that, I am not their enemy. But to be fair, most my students don't know the origin of that word.
Another common term in Anglo. But that insinuates English, and I am Dutch, Italian, Jew, and 1/16th Creek - no English there. Can't I just be, Mrs. Brokop - teacher?
When Art and I first moved here, a well meaning missionary who had been here for over 25 years, told us that we would always been seen as white, and not to trust "them." I am not white. That is all I'm going to say right now. It's just that Art and I have been doing a lot of reading this summer. And not being involved in ministry this summer, we've had a lot of time to talk and think. And I think we have something to say...something important. Art is focusing on Ministry, I am focusing on Education. And this afternoon, I felt that I needed to say this.  I am not white.