Heads Up - Eyes Front and Center

Heads Up -- Eyes Front and Center

May 8, 2014

     In 1950, we moved from the woods of Tahlequah to a suburb of Bartlesville. No memory recorded of being told the move was going to happen; it just did. Of course, Mother's law was invoked. translation -- whatever mother wanted to happen, happened. The move was not too far from Tahlequah; but not too close; the distance from the Hollow, just right for mother's purposes.  Her first dictate -- tell no one we girls were Indian, which was a reinforcement of my developing Indian/White identity confusion.

     Actually, the suburb was a group of 'cookie-cutter' houses built from the federal government's GI Bill money.  The modest house still stands, is well cared for, has a close family member in residence, and eventually, came to be fondly known as 133.

     In late August of 1950, as I wandered through half of 133's seven-hundred square feet, I came to a dead stop outside of the door to a bathroom. I stood and stared, for the longest time, as the indoor toilet sitting in the small room -- the outhouse, transformed into an indoor bathroom. As much as it's possible for a ten year old to do so, I had a feeling I was looking at a symbol, signifying a profound change in my life.

     Talking about this key memory is like playing mental hopscotch. I jump from one square, which deals with seared, ingrained memories, and the importance of those memories, then hop onto a different square, dealing with the problem of handling a quantum leap from one differing culture to another. Was the last square real? The culture square? Or, was it fiction, manufactured by mother?

     Besides the magic of new technology -- the indoor toilet -- I now had to deal with mother's new rule -- don't tell anyone you're Indian. Skipping back to the memory square, the sight of the new technology was amazement, excitement, a push, expanding my world.

     This mental hopscotching is like being caught in a vortex of circular Indian thinking. Getting the thoughts ordered, can last a long time.

     The indoor bathroom memory is one of my important life markers. It adds to 'my' story and provides 'me' a lesson. That is, without taking the time to observe, think, and mentally catalogue a meaning of what I see, many life scenes would probably be absent recall.

     Recently, I spent about 45 minutes in the Austin airport waiting to board a plane for New York City. Many people, of all ages, were sitting in the American waiting area; probably five times as many were walking the concourse. This was 'People Watching Pleasure.' For 45 minutes, I people watched, clicking my brain camera, cataloging scenes of interest for future viewing. I watched other people watch their cell phone screens; never heads nor eyes up. What memories were they making, I wondered? Would they have any stories 40 years from now? Would they remember sitting in the Austin airport?

     I've been thinking about a question from Dara Horn's, A Guide For The Perplexed -- "Are our lives determined by forces we can't control, do we have the free will to determine the future?" Are our gadgets a force we can't control? How will our memories and stories be made and saved if we delete interaction with real people? Have the gadgets seduced and weakened our free will and stunted our memories?

     Joel was with me on the NYC trip. During one of our conversations, he said, "Just wait until 2020. It's going to be a fantastic year." When I asked him to explain, he told me, "2020 is the year we finally realize we are living in a science fiction world."

     I know my indoor bathroom memory was not science fiction. I also know, during the time spent staring at that toilet, bathtub, and indoor sink, I hopscotched to a new square -- free will. Bartlesville time was going to be different.