Dianna Good Sky - Warrior Spirit Rising: A Native American Spiritual Journey

Warrior Spirit Rising

A Native American Spiritual Journey

Dianna Good Sky

Copyright 2020 by Dianna Good Sky

All rights reserved.

No part of this book may be reproduced or used in any manner without the written permission of the copyright owner except for the use of quotations in a book review. For more information, address: Dianna@diannagoodsky.com

First paperback edition June 2020

Book design by Didi King at www.csjkingpublishing.com

Cover by Mark Lambertson at www.ProdigiousMotion.com

Cover photo and feather by Mel Goodsky

The great photo on the back cover was taken at Lake Vermillion Pow Wow by a photographer who gave me permission to use it, but whose email has long since been misplaced. Im sorry, but thank you.

ISBN: 979-8-6527-2277-7

www.DiannaGoodSky.com

The events and conversations in this book have been set down to the best of the authors ability, although some names and details have been changed to protect the privacy of individuals.

DEDICATION

Thank you for letting me tell your story, dad. When I first asked you and you said no. I didnt like it. Then, under pressure from me years later, you explained to me that you would know when the time is right, and I didnt like it. Now, I understand. And I am so proud to be your daughter. MiiGwetch Dad.

For my favorite oldest son, Francis.

For my favorite youngest son, Curtis.

For my favorite oldest daughter, Nikole.

For my favorite youngest daughter, Katherine.

I dedicate this work to you. I made promises to you before you were even born and I will continue to be the best mom and grandma I can be. I love you all so much. For the last time, my childrenequally.

To my little sister and brother, Lela and Curtis, who shared both the pain and the joy in this journey, I love you with all that is in me.

Lastly, this is for my beautiful mom, Arlene. Without whom I do not think I could have handled all the crazy. I love you, Mom.

ACKNOWLEDGMENTS

This book would not have been possible without the help of my team who have become my friends. To say that I couldnt have done it alone is an understatement.

My editor, Chelseayou held my hand through this process and the book is far better because of your guidance.

My photographer MelThese photos! Your photography skills are out of this world. How you managed to capture all of my dads soul in a photo is truly a remarkable skill. Then, when you sent me the photo of the feather with the red, I knew it was perfect for the book. Much love sister.

My design artist MarkI knew you would be able to convey my dads story through your cover design when I saw your first draft. I couldnt love it more.

What do I call you Didi and Jeff King? Your skill and brilliance in the proofreading, typesetting, and help with the self-publishing was far beyond my expectations and I couldnt be more grateful for your help and your knowledge.

SteveI appreciate your feedback and assistance with this book but also your encouragement for me to actually write. You were the first to tell me I should write a book, and even though this story isnt what neither of us expected to be the first, I promise, Blue Eyed Chippewa is coming.

For all my friends, especially my sister U.S. Navy Chiefs. Your love and support throughout the process and your patience have been so heartwarming to me. You held me up when I needed it and I will be forever grateful that I am surrounded by such beautiful people and belong to such a beautiful organization.

Russ and Ryan Holman: I cannot thank you enough for your friendship with my dad and for sharing your story.

I am grateful for the Richardson family, for always being kind to my family.

These people have been such an important part of my familys life, and I wanted to take a moment to give them a little extra shout out.

Ryan Holman: http://rusticrailings.com/

Richardsons Shangri-la Resort: http://www.rs-l.com/

They have excellent customer service (because they are great people) and if you end up doing business with them, tell them you read about them in Warrior Spirit Rising.

Introduction

When I left for boot camp in January of 1980, my father was a drunk. I dont even remember if he saw me off. What I do remember is the day I told him I was joining the Navy.

I was on my way home from the movies with friends when I stopped at a bar to use the bathroom since we were still twenty miles from the Bois Forte Reservation where my family lived. This bar, Glendale, was the last stop on Highway 53, before the Reservation road turn.

I saw him the moment I walked through the doormy dad, the town drunk. One of them, anyway. Quietly, I made my way toward the bathroom, hoping he wouldnt see me. Despite my attempt at hiding from him, the familiar tones of his voice carried across the bar as he called out to me: Hey, babe. There was no avoiding an encounter. I had to stop and talk to him. Shit .

My dad spent fourteen years in the Navy, and I had spent most of my life away from the Reservation, traveling with him from base to base. I knew, or at least I thought I knew, that my recent decision to sign the papers and join up would make him proud. So, I begrudgingly walked over to where he sat on the barstool and decided to share my news.

Youre going to join the Navy? he said in disbelief. I mean, only dikes and whores join the Navy. He paused. For girls anyway.

I blushed, then lifted my head in slight defiance. Well, Im not either one of those, I said.

I know, babe.

I stood awkwardly next to him, wishing I didnt have to be there, regretting my decision to stop and use the bathroom. I should have just gone to the bathroom on the dark twenty-mile stretch of highway between here and the Rez. If I had done that, at least I wouldnt be standing here right now. The dim room smelled like cheap beer and body odor, and the droning music in the background barely overpowered the buzz of neon signs and drunken conversations.

You know what, babe? he finally said. If you join the NavyIll sober up.

I looked at him for a bit, and with my voice sounding somewhere between a third grader and the eighteen-year-old that I was, I said, Really Dad?

He took another drink of his Pabst Blue Ribbon beer. Yep. I will.

I began to wonder just how many times hed said that before. And I didnt know what to say to him.

I had watched alcohol ruin my parents marriage. Ruin our relationship. The Reservation was a living testimony of the damage that alcoholism can inflict on the world. Before alcohol took hold of my dad, we were a normal family with an almost storybook existence. We played catch in the backyard, we watched TV together and played games as a family. Dad would cook breakfast every Sundayhis day to cookand my mom would always have dinner waiting for him, every evening.

And then everything changed. Instead of waiting for him each night with dinner on the table, we sat waiting with empty cupboards, hoping he would come home with money so we could buy groceries. He stopped playing with us and we stopped expecting anything from him.

Standing in the bar, next to my inebriated father, I weighed the facts. Of course, I wanted my dad back. The thought of him sobering up if I joined the Navy was incredible. I was hopeful. For a moment. I also remembered the many times that he went to treatment, only to come back home and start drinking again.