So My Great Grandmother Was In A Residential School…

An old leather skin drum

I’d always known that I had First Nations ancestry in me. But for the longest time, it was nothing more than an obscure trivia fact. People wouldn’t expect that a white slice of bread like me would have Cree running through his veins (then again, most people wouldn’t expect the same white slice to be a Muslim convert either). So when I learned that my great grandmother had gone to a residential school, it brought the issue of my ancestry suddenly and uncomfortably close to me. Continue reading “So My Great Grandmother Was In A Residential School…”