Women. I decided to leave at an opportune time, when he was away for a weekend.
We then relocated to Saskatoon; I was thinking I could raise the children there and look for opportunities for myself. We briefly stayed at an Interval House for Women and then transferred to North Battleford, but ultimately ended up moving to my home reserve. We moved in with my (late) Mother, for about six months, and then we moved into a house on the reserve when my cousin relocated.
And even though my four kids and I lived in a two-bedroom house, it was all we had. That is where I brought up my kids. I was very lucky to have had a mother that was there for us; otherwise I don’t know what would’ve happened. Her support was a great source of strength; her love for her children and grandchildren was enormous.
I am just so grateful, Ninanaskomon, for everything. I am grateful that my late mother managed to avoid a crucial touchstone that has damaged the lives of so many people raised on reservations, namely attending Residential School. My Father, however, was not as lucky, and did attend Residential School. What is Residential School? Between 1831 and 1996, residential schools operated in Canada through arrangements between the Government of Canada and the church. One common objective defined this period – the assimilation of Aboriginal children. The children that attended experienced every type of abuse and thousands lost their lives.
It’s been said that: ‘We are all here for a reason.’ It’s just that sometimes it takes some of us a long time to understand and fully realize what that reason is.
Ninanaskomon (I am grateful).”
Inez Weenie (My Mom)
IT MAY NOT BE YOUR FAULT, BUT YOU CAN CHANGE IT!
Early Childhood
MY NAME IS Kendal Charles Netmaker. I was born April 27, 1987 in North Battleford, Saskatchewan, Canada, twenty minutes away from my reservation, Sweetgrass First Nation. As an infant my mother was told by an East Indian Doctor that: “This one is going to be a smart boy.” She asked him how he knew but the Dr. wouldn’t tell her. My mother would tell me this story in my early 20s, when she sensed that I might be steering in a negative path.
I am the oldest and have three younger sisters; my mother Inez raised us. From as early as I can remember, we lived in Big River First Nation. My dad is an amazingly fluent Cree speaker and I wish he could have taught me what he knows. Unfortunately, like many First Nations fathers at the time, my dad didn’t know how to show love or affection. He led himself down an unhealthy path which involved drugs and alcohol. I don’t remember seeing my dad too often on the reservation, but I do remember times where he would show us love and affection – something I will always cherish. There were times he would take us to the store to get treats with my sisters or pull us around on the sled in the winter, but these are only fond memories. In Kindergarten, I attended the local school called See See Wa Hum and I remember having an amazing teacher who showed me she cared about me and my other friends. She would often send me positive notes of encouragement, which motivated me to continue to try hard even though it was only Kindergarten. As I continued going to Kindergarten, I would see my father less and less. The times that he was around, my parents would argue to the point where my sisters and I would have to run out of the room. My mother’s main focus was keeping us safe, but one day things got out of hand; I noticed my mom had a cast on her nose, of course, I was too young to figure out what had happened.
I remember my first life changing moment. It was a sunny afternoon on the rez and school was wrapped up for the year. I had just finished visiting cousins and was walking home. As I walked towards my house, I saw a truck parked outside of the house that belonged to my mom’s best friend Audrey. I also saw my mother loading our family’s belongings in garbage bags and boxes into the truck. As I approached the house, my mother stopped what she was doing and looked at me. “Start packing your bag,” she said. “We don’t have much time.” I nodded and raced inside the house. I looked around and tried to see what I could use to pack my belongings in; all I had in my possession was a little Ninja Turtles backpack and I began packing as many toys as I could fit in it.
That was the day my mother left my dad. After that, we found ourselves staying in various Interval Houses. These were women’s shelters for single mothers who had nowhere to go with their children. We didn’t have a place to call home. I remember shelters where we would often only spend one to two weeks at most. I remember it like it was yesterday – playing with toys at the shelters and wondering when we were going to go back home. My mom was trying to find a way to look after us four children by herself and I cannot imagine what she had to go through to make that happen.
Another time we were living in an apartment in Prince Albert, Saskatchewan and I began acting out. One day I decided I was old enough to go hang out with a crowd of kids and took off to a local park without telling my mom. She panicked, like any caring parent would. My younger sister Kendra and my mom went looking for me and found me a few blocks away hanging with other kids (I later realized they were neglected) and disciplined me the whole way home. My mom had to leave my infant sister Farrah sleeping in her crib just so she could catch up to where I was. I was a handful, but my mom made sure I wasn’t hanging with the wrong crowds at a young age. Like any kid, I was often mad at her when I felt like she wasn’t letting me do what I wanted to do, or be as free as my friends were growing up. But I later found out that most kids who were allowed to do what they wanted, ended up not going very far in life; lesson learned.
Over time we bounced around women’s shelters and apartments in Prince Albert, Saskatoon and North Battleford, as my parents got back together and broke up again several times. When my mom was 7.5 months pregnant with my younger sister Kendra, she broke her arm and was unable to carry me or look after me properly. My Kokum (my grandma) moved in with us for six months to watch over me (apparently I used to make her watch me sing Elvis songs until I was all sweaty from the big performance). My Kokum’s involvement in my upbringing would be instrumental to my teen and adult years because I learned so many values from her. From an early age, I learned to respect elders and the first one was my Kokum.
Grade 1-2
When I was 6 years old, we moved in with my Kokum at her house in Sweetgrass First Nation. My Kokum had taught me many valuable lessons in my life through her actions. She didn’t speak fluent English and we had difficult times communicating, because I am not a fluent Cree speaker. She had taken us in to her two-bedroom house, and for a long time we had no personal space, but it very warm and welcoming and I loved the presence of my Kokum. She was the best cook and always made amazing bannock and soup for us. My Kokum loved to spoil her grandchildren with chocolate treats. I remember one time where she pretended to be the tooth fairy and had left her “bingo change” in an envelope for me in the morning under my pillow. I was definitely excited to buy junk food the next day.
It is not easy to find housing on a First Nations Reservation in Canada. We cannot legally own our own homes and in my community, there was no economic development and job creation. If you were lucky to find a way to obtain a vehicle, the closest city was North Battleford, approximately 25 minutes away by car. We finally got lucky when my mother’s cousin moved out of a small, two-bedroom house not far from my Kokum’s house, and we were able to move into it. To have our own home after years of moving about was amazing; we were thrilled. We immediately began to move our belongings into our new home.
I was the spoiled kid in my family because I was the only one to have my own room; my three younger sisters had to share the other room and many times my mom slept on the couch, until I graduated high school. This was just one of the many sacrifices my mom made for us. Through our culture, respect
