May 04, 2007 16:43
I'm taking a Native carving class. It's supposed to be a way to get seniors in high school in touch with their heritage and promote the state university.
...
Okay, so my heritage is exactly that. Heritage. It's a part of who I am, but it takes a hell of an eye to pick up on the fact that I'm not totally white. Hell, I'm still trying to figure out why I'm on the lists as "Native" anyway...I identify on most documents as Caucasian. I got yelled at by several teachers about this while I was applying to scholarships. Look, if you know where to look, you can typically tell that it's there (not so much with me, but with my father and his brother. Even with my cousins). However, it comes from a great-grandmother and none of us are registered. It happens.
And I know where I'm going to college. It's not UA.
That said, we use hand tools, a lot of patience, and basically chisel the design out of the wood. As I watched the shop teacher carve something with his power tools (it was quick and fast and easy, and his work didn't look like it had life at all), I had a Gibbs moment.
Seriously, I now get why he doesn't use power tools.
family