So here we are. I am a native woman, living on reserve, with seven children. And, for some reason, I feel that I know enough to write about it. I am no professional. I never studied early childhood nor do I facilitate a Triple P program. But I can tell you that I've had enough experience to know that there is no such thing as perfect parenting. HA!

It seems that there has always been stereotyping and prejudiced ideas about native families. The silly part of it is everyone is, generally, quick to believe it.

One of the most common, that I'm sure everyone has heard, is that all native parents are drunks. We use our child tax to pay for our alcoholism.

Another one is, all native parents are drug addicts. I am sighing, we, again, use our child tax to pay for our drug addictions.

All native women/mothers are prostitutes.

Any native mother, who has more than two children, are sluts. All their children have different father's.

All native men don't work. This one is a bit tricky, because it can go different ways. Men don't work because their drunks. Men don't work because their drug addicts. Men don't work because they refuse to provide for their multiple children, so basically they're lazy.

One of my personal favourites is, all natives are privileged snobs. We, apparently, think we're better than other races because we can, conveniently, live tax free.

All native children are to be pitied and saved from their drunken parents.

All native children were abused by their parents, sexually, physically, emotionally and/or mentally.

All native children are illiterate and, therefore, can never amount to anything. Because their parents are neglegent and partying all the time.

And the list can go on. But I'm not starting a debate or trying to criticize how were being criticized. Being politically correct is not one of my strong suits. And I am definitely not interested in breaking all native rumors down. We have to remember, I'm a native woman with seven children. That means I don't know what I'm talking about. No. What this means is, I'm going to tell you a bit about how natives really raise their children.

When we become pregnant, we carry the child in our womb for eight months. Now, technically, 40 weeks is nine months, but we say eight so as to be sure we don't curse it. Sometimes the baby comes early, sometimes the baby takes its time, and we're pregnant for an extra week or two. Sometimes we have a natural delivery (that means through the same hole we pee from), and sometimes we have a c-sextion....Section.

During the first bit of our pregnancy, we're sick. Throwing up, sick. But that's from withdrawals, I believe. And after a while, we develop, what some would call, a beer belly.

No, no. We're the same as all other women. I became pregnant, with my first, at 19. Gave birth at 20. She was a very healthy baby. I had my next one, a boy, at 23. Had another girl at 25. A boy at 26. A girl at 29. Another girl at 30. And, yet, another girl at 33. Life is sure busy with seven.

Admittedly, I don't have as much as some of the other mothers on our reserve. A few of them have nine children. But, the average number we see here is four to five.

When I was small, my parents did what they could to ensure I was culturally aware. There were rules we had to abide by. Some of them are cultural rules, some are very basic, and some others were because the adults didn't want to deal with our behavior. The whole 'children are to be seen and not heard' deal. The basic list of rules are as follows:

1) No dying
2) No bleeding
3) No being broken
4) No swearing
5) No talking back
6) No hitting (with exceptions)
7) No falling out of trees
8) No getting lost
9) No going to the hospital
10) No getting sick
11) No doing nothing
Etc. Etc. Etc.

Some of the cultural rules are as follows:

1) No looking outside at night
2) No eating outside after dusk
3) No being loud after dark
4) No playing outside when a family member has passed away. Wait until after the funeral has ended
5) No screaming, crying, playing or talking loud during the above time
6) 12 year olds need to start working (gender-based)
7) The youngest of the family serves the elders (assigned jobs change with age)
8) The young ones do not speak unless spoken to during a gathering
9) We must offer a gift to those we ask favours from
10) The younger ones must offer gifts to elders if we seek their company
11) We must break bread with others should they require help, advice, support, knowledge, trust, lessons or company
Etc. Etc. Etc.

Now, that list can go on.

Some of the 'extra' rules are:

1) No rocking
2) No spinning
3) No whining
4) No wimping
5) No pouting
6) No bouncing
7) No singing ugly
8) No screaming (unless you're dieing or broken)
9) No pinching, scratching, kicking or pulling hair, you must fight fair.
10) No tapping
11) We have to learn to dance, sing nice, bake, cook and create things.
Etc. Etc. Etc.

Don't think that we didn't have any fun, or that we had very boring childhoods. I can make my guesses as to why the last list of rules were set for us. But for me, it tends to be rather annoying. But, I did learn how to behave at different places. I knew what the expectations were, and so, I abided by them.

When I was little, I used to go visit one of my aunt's. She lived out in the big city. I'd walk in and the first thing I had to do was hug her. Next, I had to sit down and not move. If she asked for tea, I had to make it. Unless my older sister, Brenda, was with us, then she had to make it, because she was older. Half of the time, she would send me upstairs to play with her daughter. We had to be very quiet. If we spoke normally, my aunty would holler up at us to 'keep it down' and to play nice. We weren't allowed to bang the toys around, so, heaven forbid should Barbie crash her car or fall down the stairs in her dream house.

There were a few of our visits where my cousin had to stay in her room to do her homework and I had to stay in the livingroom. My aunty would tell me to get up and dance. She'd get her husband to turn on the stereo and put in a cassette tape with oldies songs on it. He'd spend a few minutes fast forwarding and rewinding the tape to get to Land of a Thousand Dances. My aunty sat in her favourite chair in the livingroom with a broom on her lap. She never left that chair unless she had to use the bathroom or had to grab something from her room herself. At least, while we were there. But, she would describe to me what I had to do with my body and used the broom handle as a guide. If my arm was too low, she'd stick out the broom handle and push my arm up with it. If my hip was sticking out the wrong side, she'd use the broom handle and tap my hip so I'd stick it out the other side. She would make me practice and practice until I was able to dance every dance named in that song without mistakes. It was fun. Once I got all those dances down, we moved on the next song and dance. You'd think that I'd know how to dance now, but, alas, I've forgotten nearly all of them. Not to mention, I'm clumsy. But this aunty, in particular, didn't like all the fidgeting. Or the whining. Or the wimping. Or anything else that requires short bursts of movement or high pitched sounds. My mom would instill these rules while we were home about half of the time. She didn't mind a lot of the noises we made, as children. But she also wanted me to be used to the idea of playing quietly or not moving at all while we were at her sisters or gatherings.

When I went to another aunt's house, I had to either bake or create something. This Aunt was very quiet. But she made herself heard. Her air demanded respect. I could play and be as loud as I wanted, as long as I didn't fight with me cousins. Ans, I had to learn a craft. She had taken some time and taught me how to make dreamcatchers. She, also, taught me how to crochet. That one was a bit harder, because, she was left handed and I was right. So my aunt had to switch hands to teach me. I remember watching her take my hook and yarn from me to show me how to turn my facecloth the wrong way to start a new row. As soon as she grabbed the hook with her right hand, I could see all her experience crocheting wash away from her brain. Her hands would flop onto her lap with my project, and her head fell back. She'd let out a sigh. I watched her as she struggled to flip the hand motions around in her head. After a minute or two, she picked up my project and showed me what I needed to do. It didn't mean much then, but it sure means a lot now. Knowing, now, that she had difficulties switching hands for me and other nieces and nephews of hers.

When I went to my Gramma's house, I had to be outside. We had rules there too:

1) No fighting
2) No bleeding
3) No leaving the property
4) Stay out of the old house
5) Stay out of the chicken farm
6) No climbing the apple trees
7) No picking the apples
8) Stay off the road
9) No talking when wrestling was on
10) No talking when hockey was on
11) Stay away from the highway, and most importantly;
12) We must ALWAYS answer when our aunt called us.

They didn't care if we swore or called each other names. We were allowed to talk back to a certain degree. We had to stay outside to play and come in, only, to eat. When the sun started to set, then, we had to come back inside. And if ever, we never answered our aunt's call, we were in a lot of trouble. And she would time us too. If she called us and we took too long to answer, she knew we went a little to far and she'd give us a warning. By the third time, we had to come inside. If she called us and we didn't answer at all, then she knew we left the property. And we had to come inside, immediately, without warning. That really sucked, because they had such a large property, filled with trees to climb. A clump of cherry trees and bushes that we, lovingly, called the 'jungle'. There were trails in the bushes for us to run through and other trails to drive the 3-wheeler and go-cart through. There was always something to do. But, my gramma and aunt would teach me how to bake. My aunt taught me how to bake cakes and cookies from scratch. My gramma taught me how to make pies and bread. I can still bake pies and cakes, but cookies......Never did get the hang of it. I never spent a lot of time baking bread with my gramma. I was busy playing and didn't allow myself much time to put everything together and wait for it to rise. I did help her gather the ingredients, sometimes dump the ingredients in the bowl and once in a while I tried to knead the dough. But I never did work through the whole process with her.

With each home, came different rules. With each rule, came different consequences. Was I beaten, as most people think happens to native children? No. I wasn't beaten. Was I starved, as most people think happened to native children? No. I wasn't starved. Was I dirty and grungy? Yes. I, definitely, was. But only until I got home. Then I'd have a bath. And, yes, I bathed in a real tub that was hooked up to real water pipes that, actually, ran clean, clear water. And, we did happen to have a separate room called a bathroom that had a working, closing door. I, also had my own room, with a bed and boxspring that was held up by a bed frame. My sister had a captains bed. Had all those drawers at the bottom.

Everyday, I would play outside. And, everyday I would have a bath before bed. Even if we got home at 10 o'clock at night. Unless I was already sleeping, then, I would have a bath in the morning. But that meant my parents would wake me up an hour earlier.

When I started school, my dad was already a teacher. He had access to different resources to aid in academics. So, basically, he brought home homework for me to do. Everyday, right after school, I had to:

1) come inside, take off my shoes and coat.
2) empty my bag and put the papers on the dining table and bring my lunch bag and garbage to the kitchen. Containers in the sink, wrappers and baggies in the garbage.
3) grab my after school snack
4) take my snack and go to the dining table. Mom and dad would have planned out what homework I would do and have it set up for me, along with a pencil and pencil sharpener.
5) eat my snack and do my homework.

At this time, I didn't have homework from school. So mom and dad made sure to have some set up for me. When I started to bring homework home, it was the same deal. Grab a snack and do my homework. Only, when I finished my homework from school, I had to do the homework my parents laid out for me. Good thing about this is, I was disciplined in getting my homework done, immediately. And I wouldn't leave until all was completed. That is, until I got to the higher grades and was given more homework that required more time. Especially when I needed the internet or a library, yes, I know how to use a library. I used my school time to access both. But I always made sure my homework was done and handed everything in on time.

Another good thing I got from this, is it helped me use my brain. By the time I reached grade 2, I already knew long division and was able to multiply 4 digits by 4 digits. And, yes, I happened to be a little smart. Pretty crazy for a native girl living on the Rez.

I also learned how to use my imagination. Who knew? My yard was such a big world. Baking mud pies and opening up a new restaurant or book store. And, yes, books. Maybe, now, I should mention that I knew how to read. I, also, would try to help others learn how to read. I was very young, maybe five years old, trying to teach other kids my age, or older.

I wasn't the only one, either. A lot of kids in my generation had lives like this. Some, yes, were beaten. Some were put down a lot. Some had been emotionally restricted. And some were bought off. I'm not forgetting about molestation either. There were some kids who endured such abuse. I, for one, had never really known kids who were sexually abused, while I was a child. It wasn't until I became an adult and had children of my own that things started to come to light. Being informed of the signs of abuse helped me to better protect my children from such predators. But it doesn't change the great possibility of being blinded, or coming across off-spring who were born, raised and trained in the world of abuse. It's quite easy to be fooled by such people.

Just like other families, on reserve, off reserve, native or non-native, some people didn't have the greatest of lives. And we still make our mistakes. I've made a fair share of my own. Most of our parents had gone to a residential school or a day school. Both were equally abusive. A lot of them had a hard time to come back from that. And, even more, didn't. But, again, I'm not here to have a debate.

I had a well enough childhood. Admittedly, there were a few years where my mom was away in the big city going to school. She wanted to be a teacher as well. My dad was a work-aholic. So he spent a lot of time at work or at meetings. Me and my sister, who was only five years older than me, stayed home by ourselves. What made this experience fun, was, sometimes, we would get surprise visitors. One day, one of our aunt's, Ginger, called us to see what we were up to and if dad was home. They knew that mom was in the city. When we told them we were watching TV and that dad was gone, she got off the phone, right away. About a half hour later, our gramma would show up at the door. It was one of the most exciting times. She would come in and start cleaning the kitchen, get all the pots or pans she was going to use, and then, cook us dinner. She would stay with us until dad came home. Gram wasn't the only one who popped over. We had another aunt who would come over once in a blue moon. She would call us over to her house next door, and feed us dinner there, then send us home again. Me and my sister always knew to go over there if anything went wrong. We, also knew how to use the phone and had important numbers memorized. As I think of it now, we never did have the police or ambulance number memorized. I had Gram's, Aunty next door and a couple of my cousin's numbers memorized. That was it. But they were important. We also had some of our uncles come over and check on us.

There were a number of times where I would be home alone. My sister would go over to our cousin's house.....Yes, yes, we had a lot of cousin's.....And I would find out that I was alone when I got home. But I still did what I was trained to do. I would get a snack and do my homework before I did anything else. Once I finished my homework, I would grab all of my Barbie's and go play in the livingroom while I watched cartoons that my mom recorded for me. We didn't have cable or satellite. My mom had ordered cable in the city and would record every cartoon she could find for us. We had a lot of of VHS tapes. If it wasn't cartoons, it was wrestling for my sister. I remember, one day, I was at home alone, must've been about seven years old, and I was just learning how to cook. I knew how to boil eggs, scramble eggs, make rice on the stove top and mac and cheese. That was it. I was wanting to learn how to cook other things. I got off the bus around 3:30, had a snack, and didn't get hungry again until dinner time.

About 5 o'clock, I got hungry. I put down my Barbie's and stopped the VHS and wandered into the kitchen. I didn't know how long my sister would be, or if she was coming home at all. She usually cooked for us. I dug in the fridge, no eggs. No mac and cheese. I didn't know how to make anything that went with rice. We had milk, but cereal was for mornings. We had fruit, school snacks, veggies, lunch meat.....Lunch meat? No. I wanted jam. I grabbed the jam and closed the fridge. Grabbed the peanut butter and nearly dropped it. The peanut butter jar was glass and shaped like a bear. It was heavy. I hugged it close to me and arched my back to carry it across the kitchen. I put the jar on a chair, climbed the chair, grabbed the jar and put it on the table. I walked back across the kitchen and grabbed a loaf of bread and a butter knife. I climbed back on the chair and started to make my sandwich. Once done, I put the lids back on the jars and pretended to twist them closed. I climbed off the chair and took my sandwich into the livingroom. I was a very petite child. So a lot of things seemed bigger or taller than they were. When I finished eating, the phone rang. It was my aunt.

"How are you?" She asked.

"I'm good." I answered.

"How was school?"

"Fun."

"Is your dad home?"

"No."

"Okay, put your sister on the phone."

"Um, I can't. She's not here." I told her. There was silence on the phone for a minute.

"Where is she?"

"Next door. She's visiting Sherry." I explained. Sherry was our first cousin. She lived next door, on the other side of a field. Her dad was our dad's brother.

My aunt, on the phone, Ginger, sighed. "When she go over there?"

"She got off the bus."

"Ok. Did you eat?"

"Yep."

"What did you eat?"

"I had an apple when I got home and I just finished a peanut butter and jam sandwich."

"That's not enough. Mom. Mom. Sam's home alone." Ginger told Gram. "No. Brenda went to Sherry's....Ya she caught the bus there. Should I send the boys? No she doesn't know when Brenda's coming home. Ok. I'll tell her, then." Ginger came back on the phone. "Sam? You stay there okay? Do not leave the house. Watch cartoons. Mom's coming over. I have to call your uncle home to drive her, though, so she might be a while."

"I didn't go outside. And I already am watching cartoons." I told her. "Is gram going to cook for me?" I asked, hopefully. That sandwich really wasn't enough. I was still hungry.

"Yes. She's going to cook for you, Sam. Just stay in the livingroom and wait for mom." Ginger hung up.

I went into the livingroom and waited. An hour later, Gram walked through the door. She did her same routine, went to the kitchen, cleaned up, and started cooking.

My dad didn't come home until midnight and Brenda was still gone. Gram had me laying on the couch with my head on her lap. We had watched cartoons all night. I was still awake, I'm not sure if I was on my second wind, but, I didn't feel tired.

"Hey, mom." Dad said. "How's the girls? They ok?"

"Brenda's not here. She's spending the night with Sherry. Sam was here by herself. I got here at six." Gram explained, calmly.

Dad stopped moving and looked at Gram. He looked at me then the ceiling. He sighed and shook his head. "She didn't ask to go there. She didn't even let me know."

"It's ok. I came here. Sam's fed. She ate all her dinner and had another snack. I cut her up some orange slices a bit ago."

"Thank you, mom. I thought Brenda would be here. She knows how cook some things." Dad chuckled. He seemed proud that Brenda could cook for us.

"Doesn't matter, Bill. You shouldn't be leaving the cooking for Brenda. They're kids. You need to let them play." Gram tapped my hip a few times. I sat up, climbed off the couch and gave Gram a hug.

"Goodnight, Gram."

"Goodnight, baby."

I started to walk through the livingroom when it hit me. I was tired.

"Hi, dad." I said as I walked by.

"Goodnight, girl." Dad said.

I went off to my room and crawled into bed. I didn't hear anything more. I had gone to sleep right away.

When I got up the next morning, Gram was still there. This happened a lot. Gram would come and spend the night when dad stayed out late. And sometimes she would stay another night. This was how we were. We had family come together to help raise us. When we got in trouble with our parents, we were in trouble with our aunt's and uncles and Gram.

Gram had taught me how to cook more things, while she stayed with us. How to boil weiner's, fry balogna, make bannock, fry ham, make grilled cheese sandwiches. She told me that if I'm, ever, left alone like that again, I was to call them right away. And her teaching me how to cook was just in case her and Ginger were gone.

Before my mom left to go to school, she taught me how to do the laundry. I was, about, five years old when I asked. I was excited to hang the clothes on the line. And that was my sole purpose for learning to do the laundry. Was a lot of work for me with all the climbing I had to do. But it never bothered me. Some people were impressed that I knew how to wash clothes and was entertained by it. Others thought it to be disturbing and wrong.

This is what we did. By the time mom left, me and Brenda was able to do enough to get by. And as we grew, we learned how to do things a certain way. Brenda would go to Sherry's and I would go to my aunt's house next door, my godmother, or we'd got to Gram's house, or I'd go to my cousin, Sabrina's, house.

Although, this seems terrible, it was what it was. Eventually, dad came home to cook or he took us out for dinner. Then he would leave or bring us home, then leave. Gram still came over and left when dad came home, or stayed the night if dad came home later than 10 o'clock. When Brenda was about 13 or 14, I was 8 or 9, Gram didn't come over anymore. They still called to check on us. But, I knew how to cook for myself, dry dishes, do the laundry, sweep and vacuum. Brenda knew how to cook for the both of us, call someone to watch me if she was leaving, wash the dishes, put the dishes away, wash the floors and put the toys, movies and books away. So we managed a bit better. And, no, we didn't do all the listed chores at once. We were kids. Brenda would was a load of dishes and I would dry them. I would pretend to help Brenda put the dishes away. Then Brenda would cook. We did chores as we needed to. We weren't trained to do them daily. And we tried to get some things done before we left, if need be. We had a working rotation. A routine that I never complained about. Brenda, on the other hand, would complain. She still complains, but, with a different attitude and tone.

I'd say we were lucky. Compared to some, we were.