My art teacher had a crazy idea. She said, "let us all carve masks!" We all
got brown square pieces of wood. They were all different textures, some were
soft, and some were hard. But that did not matter. My classmates and I all sat
down and began our journey.
Everyone thinks differently and when they do something they put their hearts
into, you can never imagine what is running through their minds. What was going
through mine was my Native culture, my Native background about the time and
dedication, about their love and the spirit that they put into their masks or
their hatred, their fears, their joys. It made me think of mine, my Indian boy,
my Eskimo boy, my son. When I was sanding, I felt as if I was sanding away all
the hurt, the pain, the anger, and the hate! Get away from me, away from my
son my precious innocent child. To the point where he was pure, clean, with
his mother, learning his cultures and respecting it with the respect that I
have and him loving me, the way that I love him.
Then it was done. I oiled it for days and every day it matured and grew into
its own person, as my son will! And that is how my Indian boy mask grew to be!