IMMERSED IN HERITAGE
Indigenous dads make culture a priority for kids
Apart from the occasional honk of a Canada goose, it’s quiet at Wanuskewin Heritage Park this evening.
The silence is broken by the rhythmic jingling of Omiyosiw Nazbah Warren’s powwow regalia. At only 11, she is a total professional in her art form.
Her six-year-old sister, Kiihibaa Acahkos Warren, has less experience but is full of enthusiasm. She excitedly points out colours on her tasselled fancy dance shawl. Her favourite colours are red and blue and gold ... and purple. She spreads the garment wide in the light of the golden hour.
“My shawl goes up when I spin, look!” she says.
The girls are happy and confident in their regalia. That fills their father TJ Warren, a champion chicken dancer, with a sense of accomplishment. He and his wife Dabney, a jingle dress dancer from Big River First Nation, have raised them to be proud of who they are and where they come from. The family has shared its passion over countless kilometres at powwows across the continent.
Warren’s parenting style keeps the family’s Indigenous heritage at the forefront, from dance to language to prayer.
“I want my daughters to continue on the compassion that we have as First Nations people to not only ourselves but the world,” he said. “And to never sell ourselves short, understanding who we are and what we can achieve as First Nations people.”
Warren grew up in Red Mesa, Ariz. on the Navajo Nation, home of the Diné people.
He wears his hair in long braids. He only cut it short once.
At school, he was teased for wearing it long. At around age four, after a fight with one of his fellow students, he found a pair of scissors in the family car.
“We started to drive and my mom knew there was something wrong. She found the pair of scissors and opened the glove compartment and my two little braids were in there,” he said.
After that, his parents explained the significance of long, braided hair. He’s worn it that way ever since.
Powwow and traditional ceremonies were integral parts of his family life from the beginning. Warren went through an initiation into the dance circle at around eight years old.
His journey to Canada had dark beginnings. In 2005, Warren was driving a group, including his nowwife, home from a powwow at the Witchekan Lake First Nation.
They were in great spirits, having taken home several first-place finishes. Warren lost control on a curve and the car ended up overturned in a slough.
His 16-year-old cousin Roderick Slim died in the crash. Warren was devastated.
“I was afraid to go home. I felt responsible for the death of my cousin because I was driving,” he said.
Warren returned to Arizona with his cousin’s body, but found it difficult to be home.
He found comfort and support through Dabney and her family and decided to move to Saskatchewan. Soon, the couple found out they were expecting a child. That moment changed everything for him.
“This pity and depression and not feeling loved or being valuable to anybody changed. I had something to look forward to,” he said. “From then on, life felt like it began again for me.”
TEACHING AND LEARNING
Warren said his father set a great example for fatherhood. When his mom was away at work, his dad got the kids ready for school. He’d cook breakfast and tie back his daughters’ hair.
Warren is happy to take on similar jobs as a dad.
“Sometimes I’m the tough, strong, stern guy. Sometimes I’ve got to be the teddy bear, too,” he said.
This summer his wife, a teacher, completed certificates in special education and Indigenous language and was too busy to attend powwows. Warren prepared his daughters for performances in her absence.
“Oh man, it was hectic,” he said. “I know a certain way of braiding my own hair, so that’s how I did it. My eldest was like, ‘Hey daddy, that’s not how mommy does it.’”
Warren was grateful for help from matriarchs of other families.
Before the Warrens started working in education, they would attend 40 or more powwows a year. Today, they go to around 25. Both their daughters have been active in powwow from a young age. Warren said it’s not only good for their health, it helps ground them in life and connect to the land and their ancestors.
With such an active schedule, Warren — who also works as a cultural consultant for the city and local schools and is pursuing an education degree through the Indian Teacher’s Education Program — strives to find balance or Hózhó. In addition to their public duties, the family also participates in sweats and other ceremonial events. They regularly smudge their own home and give thanks to the Creator.
Language is also important to Warren. He tries to use words from the Diné and Cree languages on a daily basis.
INSTILLING PRIDE
When Randy Morin puts his children to bed, he tells them “ki sākihitin.” The phrase means ‘I love you’ in Cree or nêhiyawêwin, a language the Saskatoon father has been speaking his whole life.
Morin grew up at Big River First Nation, immersed in his culture and language.
His grandmother, who is 105 years old, speaks only Cree. His childhood was filled with ceremonies and cultural activities. Morin spoke only Cree until he was eight years old.
As a teenager, he wanted to speak English and spend time in the city. At around 20, he realized those choices were making him unhealthy and unhappy. He stopped drinking and re-engaged with his heritage. Today, Morin is a passionate advocate for his language and culture.
“I came back to what they call the Sweetgrass Road. Some people call it the Red Road, just going back to who Creator meant you to be,” he said.
“I just saw too much negative stuff in that time. I call those years my dying years ... I was not healthy in mind, body and spirit. I knew I needed to do more with my life.”
An important part of that change was meeting his wife, Lindsay Knight. The pair started dating 18 years ago when both of them were looking to reconnect with their culture. Today, they are passing those lessons to their children.
“Creator lent us our children. They don’t belong to us. We’re borrowing our children from the Creator so we’re doing everything we can to honour that gift,” he said.
Morin and Knight — a Saskatoon hip-hop artist who performs as Eekwol — have two children, nineyear-old Keesik and four-year-old Kisay. Morin also has a 19-year-old daughter from a previous relationship.
“I want them to be proud. They see me and their mom proud. We walk with our heads high wherever we go,” he said. “We raise our voices when we see injustice. I want them to follow their own path, but to know who they are and be stronger.”
THE SPIRIT OF LANGUAGE
Morin teaches in the Department of Indigenous Studies at the University of Saskatchewan. He recently completed a master’s degree in Indigenous language revitalization through the University of Victoria (offered through the Saskatchewan Indigenous Cultural Centre) and is developing a similar program at the U of S. Prior to that he taught at the elementary and high school levels.
He’s taught hundreds of students and his own children in hopes of preserving the Cree language.
“Every word is specifically created to have a teaching. It’s a living language. It has a spirit. I’m trying to honour that spirit by teaching others,” he said.
Even as a leader in language revitalization, Morin said it can be challenging to teach his own children. English is still the main language they hear every day at school and on TV.
“Even my family who are Cree speakers speak English to them. And it irks me to no end,” he said. “I want them to know their language. It’s challenging but I do it because I love the culture and the language.”
Morin has high expectations, but his kids have already learned a lot. He wrote a children’s book, Our Relatives, the Animals Give Thanks and has been reading it to them since it came out two years ago.
In a quiet, comforting voice he reads the Cree text. Keesik, meanwhile, reads the English translation aloud. Morin has recently completed a second book.
Though language is a priority for him, he also teaches his kids other Indigenous traditions, often incorporating ceremonial activities into daily life.
On a sunny October day, the family walks to the river. Morin wears a T-shirt with the words “Mîywâsin pimâtisiwin” printed on it. The phrase means life is good.
The kids run and dig in the sand. Kisay finds a lady bug, then a butterfly to show her parents.
“We’ve had a lot of lady bugs living in our house,” Knight said with a laugh.
Morin asks his kids to help him offer tobacco in the river, a ceremony that gives thanks to the water spirit and acts as a prayer for continued clean drinking water.
Morin loves to be outdoors with his children. He points to his arm, tanned after a summer spent visiting the Forestry Farm and Beaver Creek, going camping and fishing.
Knight said Morin is a great dad. In addition to language, he’s given their children compassion and a sense of humour. Living with culture at the forefront is something Morin does every day, despite challenges he experiences as an Indigenous man.
Even my family who are Cree speakers speak English to them. And it irks me to no end. I want them to know their language.
It’s challenging but I do it because I love the culture and the language.
“He’s treated with fear and people profile him or stereotype him no matter where we are, but he teaches them not to let that overwhelm them and dictate who they are. He really wants them to be comfortable in their brown skin,” Knight said.
“Our idea of success for them is not so much material wealth or becoming a doctor, it’s more that they’re content and they don’t grow up with trauma like we both did. They’ve never seen us violent or intoxicated and they’ll never see that.”
Even though they are young, Morin and Knight are open with their kids about social issues.
They recently visited a party supply store to voice their concerns about Halloween costumes that appropriated Indigenous culture. Morin said he wants his children to be critical thinkers.
“We’re getting them prepared to face this world. Sometimes this world’s not pretty,” he said. “They’re Indigenous. They’re going to experience a lot of racism, so they have to navigate through that somehow.”
BUILDING HARMONY
Both Warren and Morin admit it can be challenging to maintain cultural ties in an urban setting. Both grew up immersed in their heritage, but that isn’t the case for all Indigenous people.
Ace Lafond grew up in urban centres like Saskatoon, Edmonton and Prince Albert. He didn’t have a strong connection to his traditions until he had children.
“That’s when I really started getting in touch with my culture and asking questions from elders and other people I know,” he said.
As he learns, he’s teaching his three kids. The Saskatoon family recently started setting up teepees together. In their sizable backyard, Lafond and his kids use wooden poles, rope and canvas to create the structure.
Lafond gives the children — McKenzie, 16, Tala, 13 and Lex, seven, children he shares with partner Mariah — regular instruction as they set up the teepee.
That day’s teepee is a smaller scale than the traditional 18-footer, so it’s easier for the smaller kids to take part. Still, the poles are twice as tall as Lafond’s youngest.
The family is efficient in the assembly. After about 20 minutes, Lafond is relaxing on his deck while his two youngest children giggle inside the teepee.
While he’s taking traditional teachings on board, he’s also trying to make the process his own.
“We didn’t have written teachings. It was more verbally taught,” he said. “It was all about taking something, learning something, making it your own and that’s what you pass to your children.”
The process is also a great way to get outside and be with his children, away from the screens of their phones.
Lafond’s approach to parenting is simple. The main house rule is to be kind.
“Honestly, that’s the First Nations way. Be kind, be humble. True, traditional men and women understand that.”
Lafond also encourages prayer in his home. He goes hunting with his eldest. Though he’s never killed an animal, Lafond helps his brother track and process the meat.
He wants to share what he’s learned with others. To that end, he’s starting a company called Tipi Harmony. Among other things, it will offer teepee tutorials to Indigenous and non-Indigenous people.
“I want people to actually get to know the real First Nations people. It’s slowly coming around, but I want to be a part of that — just to share our culture with anybody willing to listen.”
COMING BACK TO TRADITION
Morin encourages his friends and other Indigenous people to teach their own kids about their culture. He wants to welcome people back to traditional ceremonies.
“There’s always room for more growth, for more people to join this cultural, language revolution,” he said.
People should take it slowly and not be too hard on themselves — even learning one word a day is good practice, he said.
Warren said Indigenous people deal with struggles every day. He encourages other dads to be warriors for their families.
“We have to remember we are here for a purpose. As a First Nations male, a lot of time it was to be a protector, to be a warrior, to be a provider. That doesn’t mean you have to go out to hunt and kill a buffalo or to go out and defend your home front, it means to be there for your family, to protect your children from harm.”
We’re getting them prepared to face this world. Sometimes this world’s not pretty. They’re Indigenous. They’re going to experience a lot of racism.