Just came back from Green Drinks - that social for educated, middle-classed toadies with green sensibilities. Like always, it was a blast - interesting people, interesting conversations, interesting ideas. But it was on the way back, at the corner of Spadina and Bloor, that I had my most fascinating discussion of all.
She was middle-aged, black-haired and large-eyed, the suggestion of youthful beauty still there. "Have a good night," she said, and immediately I was struck by the absence of desperation. I asked her if she'd like anything, and she said a Double Double would hit the spot. She thanked me for the coffee. It turned out she was Objibway. I mention that I'd noticed the Native community center nearby and the large number of Native Americans in this vicinity. She responded by inviting me to a drum dance at the Center tomorrow night at six. I was then treated to a narration on discrimination, abuse, residential schools, and family break down. At some point in the conversation, I'd crouched down, feeling it ackward and disrespectful to stand while she sat. So when I rose again to go, I belately realized I'd forgotten to ask her name. I introduce myself with a handshake, and she does the same. Her name's Becky.
"Go to the drum dance tomorrow." she said, "You'll get some looks. But don't mind them. We Native Americans open our doors to everyone. I've done my healing. The drums, they're beautiful."
I guess I know what I'm doing tomorrow night.
