Sunday, August 9, 2009
HILARIOUS
New York rapper claims he channeled Kanye’s style with his purposely pompous and pretentious choice of cover art.
New York – August 7, 2009
By David Sutherland for SarcasticDBag.Blogspot.com
Jay-Z confirmed that the image that hit the internet on Monday – a mound of white instruments with three red lines superimposed over them – is in fact the cover for his highly anticipated album The Blueprint 3. "It's the album cover," Jay said as he sipped a 1994 Chateau Margaux from a long stemmed tulip shaped wine glass before accurately spitting the liquid into a silver bucket held by a young intern.
The long awaited final chapter in Jay-Z’s critically acclaimed Blueprint trilogy has the entire music industry buzzing, but a relaxed Hov seemed more interested in the finer things in life as he spent the afternoon detailing his love of expensive wine, art, and Kanye West’s gaudy sense of style.
“You know, the divine experience of a fine Bordeaux is enhanced when you spit the wine instead of actually swallowing it, and this can turn even the most basic vintage into a simply transcendent experience,” Jay declared as he dabbed the leftover wine from his lips with what appeared to be one of the original copies of the Magna Carta.
When asked about the rather cryptic image of the pile of instruments featured on his album cover, Jay explained "These things are like the forgotten pieces in hip-hop. It's still about music. These are the forgotten things about the art, which in my case is very expensive. I’m a collector of expensive art you know?”
Without missing a beat, the 39-year-old rapper got up from his chair and headed towards the east wing of his sprawling Tribeca loft where he stores his expansive collection of the work of controversial British artist Damien Hirst.
“I got into the art game after I read Kanye’s blog,” Jay claimed. “All those fancy pictures of modern art and cool furniture that Yeezy took so long to compile on his website really affected my soul.”
Jay’s collection, while vast and undoubtedly expensive, may have sacrificed quality for the sake of quantity however. An example of this is the sheer amount of bizarre Hirst pieces that the rapper owns, such as the controversial installation that features a rainbow colored unicorn performing fellatio on the embalmed remains of Truman Capote.
Jay bought the piece for $8 million (U.S.) and despite its offensive nature, he credits the installation as one of the inspirations for his rejuvenated rap career.
“This one right here is what it’s all about, and it really helped me get into the creative mind frame to record this new album,” Jay said proudly as he stroked the unicorn's well muscled hide. “But let’s not forget that most of my creative inspiration comes from my foppish baby brother: Kanye West.”
It is commonly accepted music industry lore that Jay-Z is Kanye West’s mentor, and that the Brooklyn rapper has influenced and shaped every step of the Chicago born superstars meteoric rise to fame. But with the unveiling of the cover art for Blueprint 3, it looks like the dynamics of the partnership have shifted and now Jay has channeled Kanye’s relentless drive to be the most pompous and pretentious douchebag on earth.
Jay-Z is not shy to admit that West has changed his approach to making music, and he cites West's controversial album 808's and Heartbreak as a major inspiration for his latest work.
“I really have to credit Kanye’s latest record with giving me the creative strength to try and get away with making my album cover such an inflated, grandiose representation of my burgeoning pretension,” he said.
Kanye West, who is rumored to have produced a majority of the tracks on Blueprint 3 had nothing but praise for Jay’s choice of album art, stating that “When I saw the art for the new Blueprint I just thought, 'wow Hov, you really upped the douchebag ante with this one homey'."
Even West seemed suprised at Jay's unabashed embrace of overblown extravagant modern art and had trouble grasping the overall meaning of the album cover. "I mean, damn Jay, no one reps pomposity like that! The blatant forced symbolism of death and progression, the trite use of contrasting colors and the predictable employ of perspective. Shit. Once again Hov beat me at my own game and that's why he's the greatest.”
Before any questions could be asked about the actual music on the eagerly awaited record, Jay-Z left the apartment and climbed into the back of a horse drawn carriage to go shopping for an Espresso machine in the East Village. Requests for a follow-up interview were denied by his representatives.
The Blueprint 3 will be available in stores and on iTunes on September 11th, courtesy of Atlantic Records.
Sunday, August 2, 2009
Saturday, August 1, 2009
The Reason
I posted all of these on here is simply so that there's an easily accessible "bundle" of them. Reading them on ICT's website is much better because they have the links on there (which I worked very hard on, by the way. Seriously.). However, the focus of this blog is not the actual stuff that's in ICT--those are for them, and I'm thankful for the platform that they've given me. Even though they really should put them in the paper copies. Really. But aside from that, they've done a great job and I'm appreciative. But I don't really give a lot of feedback to the comments on the ICT website because that seems kinda vain and self-conscious. But if I do post anything regarding actual thought that I had when I wrote the pieces, that background will be on here.
So will videos, movie clips, and stories that I find interesting. This is NOT going to be, for the most part, "new writings." Maybe some poetry--I may try some out on you guys. But for the most part, this is gonna be the silly companion to the actual pieces on ICT's pages.
Thanks!
Gyasi
So will videos, movie clips, and stories that I find interesting. This is NOT going to be, for the most part, "new writings." Maybe some poetry--I may try some out on you guys. But for the most part, this is gonna be the silly companion to the actual pieces on ICT's pages.
Thanks!
Gyasi
Movies
8.0: A few lists
By Gyasi Ross
Story Created: Jul 27, 2009
I mentioned, previously, that my family is shamelessly corny. As such, my family has a tendency to sing along together, in the car, to Journey, Billy Ocean and Chicago’s “You’re the Inspiration” (and of course, Michael Jackson. R.I.P.).
As a product of a corny family, one cannot necessarily blame me for gravitating toward a few weird songs myself. One such song is “My Favorite Things,” from “Swiss Family Robinson” or “Sound of Music” (or “Mary Poppins” or one of those horrible old movies with a bunch of nice white folks dancing off-beat and never being racist, power-hungry or sleeping in the same bed with each other).
Assuming that these dancing, non-racist white folks also purchase fireworks from my family’s fireworks stand, these would be my kind of white people, no doubt. Maybe that’s why I like the song?
In any event, the song, “My Favorite Things,” is essentially a list of some of the writer’s favorite things. Makes sense. And since I’ve been watching an obscene amount of bad movies the past few days in a hotel room where the bed does not vibrate, I’m somewhat bored. Therefore, in observance of my love of singing and dancing white people (Disney movies: white peoples’ pow-wows?) and movies, I have created a couple of lists of my own favorite things, along with a brief explanation of why they are my favorites.
Favorite Skin movie
• “Dance Me Outside”
• “Don’t Touch The White Woman”
• “On Deadly Ground” (truly incredible scene – “what is that, halibut?”)
• “Windwalker”
“Dance Me Outside” is the blueprint. Its depiction of certain Skin quirks is absolutely freaking hilarious. Amazingly, it was written by a white dude – so it begs the questions – While we Skins talk about the media’s erroneous depiction of Skins, how is it that the guy who got it the most right is a napikwon? Do Skins have just as screwed up an image of Skins as white folks do?
“Don’t Touch the White Woman” was also hilarious. The name alone is enough to crack me up. That’s a joke for a lot of Skin men – “Don’t touch the white woman? AYYYYEEEE! Yeah, right!”
Finally, “On Deadly Ground” is a deep and touching political story with Steven Seagal avenging political rights for Skins with his sissy punches – you know the way he slaps. What better way to address historical injustices other than with some ponytailed kung fu?
Bonus Quote: Forrest Taft, “On Deadly Ground,” “What does it take to change the essence of a man?”
The million dollar question, Forrest. The million dollar question, indeed. Watch the clip – you’ll see.
Coolest white people
• The Fonz
• Marlon Brando
• Steven Seagal
The Fonz. Nuff said. Who else can water ski with a leather coat on?
Marlon Brando – God rest his handsome soul – loved Skins. He put his chiseled jaw on the line for Skins, and as a result even got arrested pursuing Northwest Skins’ fishing rights. They call the place where he got arrested in Washington “Brando’s Landing.” That plot of land is nearly as attractive as he is.
As for Steven Seagal, just refer above, to the “On Deadly Ground” discussion. It’s fair to say that I would probably take Steven Seagal in a UFC Cage Fight against Satan. Or God. Whoever is meaner (but probably not the Fonz, admittedly). Let’s put it like this – after killing an untold amount of anonymous Jamaican henchmen in “Marked for Death” Nigel Powers-style, Seagal kicked Screwface 197 times, chopped him with a sword and shoved his green eyeballs into his brain. Then he snapped Screwface’s spine over his knee and threw him down an elevator shaft.
Yeah, Seagal.
Best movie hair
• Sho Nuff/Julius Carry (R.I.P.)
• Steven Seagal
• Billy Wirth in “War Party”
“Am I the meanest?” Sho Nuff! “Am I the prettiest?” Sho Nuff! “Am I the baddest mofo low down around this town?”
Sho nuff. “The Last Dragon” contained so many memorable features – the glow, Eddie Arcadian’s water-aquarium-monster-thingie, the little Asian kid that faked like he knew kung-fu. But Sho Nuff made the movie worth seeing – his hilarious locks an inspiration/source of comfort for any Skin kid who happened to have been made fun of for his bushy, long locks all throughout school, to the point of tears. Many times. I’m not saying any names. …
As for Steven Seagal, what more can a man say about him that hasn’t already been said by Steven Seagal? His hair is legendary, as are his slapping kung-fu moves. His ASAP (Atrociously Small Anglo Ponytail) would go much better with Birkenstocks and singing “Lesbian Seagull” than fighting bad guys (unless that bad guy was global warming). But c’mon – this is Seagal. Seagal in Birkenstocks? The painted-on hairpiece/rug that he’s recently taken to wearing just adds to the overall sleazy coolness of the extorted kung fu king.
Finally, “War Party” was filmed in my hometown, so I’d probably get in trouble if I didn’t mention it. A dubious source of pride, to be sure. Still, my Auntie Wanda was an extra in the movie – therefore there was at least one good thing about this seagull dropping of a movie. In fact, if they wanted to film some real conflict and emotion on the Blackfeet rez, they should have filmed some of our family arguments! Would’ve been 20 times better. And real Blackfeet men are almost assuredly better looking than Billy Wirth. And I’m not biased.
Any bad movies on your mind? Any additions to these lists? Heck, any lists of your own? What do you put on the tube when you want to be taken away to fantasy land? Obviously you Skins have a different idea on some of these lists. I’m curious about your input – you may even turn me on to a new movie or two. Talk to me.
What do you Skins think?
By Gyasi Ross
Story Created: Jul 27, 2009
I mentioned, previously, that my family is shamelessly corny. As such, my family has a tendency to sing along together, in the car, to Journey, Billy Ocean and Chicago’s “You’re the Inspiration” (and of course, Michael Jackson. R.I.P.).
As a product of a corny family, one cannot necessarily blame me for gravitating toward a few weird songs myself. One such song is “My Favorite Things,” from “Swiss Family Robinson” or “Sound of Music” (or “Mary Poppins” or one of those horrible old movies with a bunch of nice white folks dancing off-beat and never being racist, power-hungry or sleeping in the same bed with each other).
Assuming that these dancing, non-racist white folks also purchase fireworks from my family’s fireworks stand, these would be my kind of white people, no doubt. Maybe that’s why I like the song?
In any event, the song, “My Favorite Things,” is essentially a list of some of the writer’s favorite things. Makes sense. And since I’ve been watching an obscene amount of bad movies the past few days in a hotel room where the bed does not vibrate, I’m somewhat bored. Therefore, in observance of my love of singing and dancing white people (Disney movies: white peoples’ pow-wows?) and movies, I have created a couple of lists of my own favorite things, along with a brief explanation of why they are my favorites.
Favorite Skin movie
• “Dance Me Outside”
• “Don’t Touch The White Woman”
• “On Deadly Ground” (truly incredible scene – “what is that, halibut?”)
• “Windwalker”
“Dance Me Outside” is the blueprint. Its depiction of certain Skin quirks is absolutely freaking hilarious. Amazingly, it was written by a white dude – so it begs the questions – While we Skins talk about the media’s erroneous depiction of Skins, how is it that the guy who got it the most right is a napikwon? Do Skins have just as screwed up an image of Skins as white folks do?
“Don’t Touch the White Woman” was also hilarious. The name alone is enough to crack me up. That’s a joke for a lot of Skin men – “Don’t touch the white woman? AYYYYEEEE! Yeah, right!”
Finally, “On Deadly Ground” is a deep and touching political story with Steven Seagal avenging political rights for Skins with his sissy punches – you know the way he slaps. What better way to address historical injustices other than with some ponytailed kung fu?
Bonus Quote: Forrest Taft, “On Deadly Ground,” “What does it take to change the essence of a man?”
The million dollar question, Forrest. The million dollar question, indeed. Watch the clip – you’ll see.
Coolest white people
• The Fonz
• Marlon Brando
• Steven Seagal
The Fonz. Nuff said. Who else can water ski with a leather coat on?
Marlon Brando – God rest his handsome soul – loved Skins. He put his chiseled jaw on the line for Skins, and as a result even got arrested pursuing Northwest Skins’ fishing rights. They call the place where he got arrested in Washington “Brando’s Landing.” That plot of land is nearly as attractive as he is.
As for Steven Seagal, just refer above, to the “On Deadly Ground” discussion. It’s fair to say that I would probably take Steven Seagal in a UFC Cage Fight against Satan. Or God. Whoever is meaner (but probably not the Fonz, admittedly). Let’s put it like this – after killing an untold amount of anonymous Jamaican henchmen in “Marked for Death” Nigel Powers-style, Seagal kicked Screwface 197 times, chopped him with a sword and shoved his green eyeballs into his brain. Then he snapped Screwface’s spine over his knee and threw him down an elevator shaft.
Yeah, Seagal.
Best movie hair
• Sho Nuff/Julius Carry (R.I.P.)
• Steven Seagal
• Billy Wirth in “War Party”
“Am I the meanest?” Sho Nuff! “Am I the prettiest?” Sho Nuff! “Am I the baddest mofo low down around this town?”
Sho nuff. “The Last Dragon” contained so many memorable features – the glow, Eddie Arcadian’s water-aquarium-monster-thingie, the little Asian kid that faked like he knew kung-fu. But Sho Nuff made the movie worth seeing – his hilarious locks an inspiration/source of comfort for any Skin kid who happened to have been made fun of for his bushy, long locks all throughout school, to the point of tears. Many times. I’m not saying any names. …
As for Steven Seagal, what more can a man say about him that hasn’t already been said by Steven Seagal? His hair is legendary, as are his slapping kung-fu moves. His ASAP (Atrociously Small Anglo Ponytail) would go much better with Birkenstocks and singing “Lesbian Seagull” than fighting bad guys (unless that bad guy was global warming). But c’mon – this is Seagal. Seagal in Birkenstocks? The painted-on hairpiece/rug that he’s recently taken to wearing just adds to the overall sleazy coolness of the extorted kung fu king.
Finally, “War Party” was filmed in my hometown, so I’d probably get in trouble if I didn’t mention it. A dubious source of pride, to be sure. Still, my Auntie Wanda was an extra in the movie – therefore there was at least one good thing about this seagull dropping of a movie. In fact, if they wanted to film some real conflict and emotion on the Blackfeet rez, they should have filmed some of our family arguments! Would’ve been 20 times better. And real Blackfeet men are almost assuredly better looking than Billy Wirth. And I’m not biased.
Any bad movies on your mind? Any additions to these lists? Heck, any lists of your own? What do you put on the tube when you want to be taken away to fantasy land? Obviously you Skins have a different idea on some of these lists. I’m curious about your input – you may even turn me on to a new movie or two. Talk to me.
What do you Skins think?
Skins and White Folks
7.0: Any tribal job a Skin can get, a Napikwon can get easier!
By Gyasi Ross
Story Created: Jul 20, 2009
Skins tend to have interesting and complex relationships with white folks. Generally, we hate them or love them – we’re rarely indifferent. And the relationships with white folks are not always predictable. The Skins whom you most expect to have a good relationship with white folks – the half-white, half-Skin college sophomore, for example – is often the one who most loudly and aggressively asserts their dislike for “the white colonizer.”
And the former revolutionary full-blood from the remote rez (who comes from a long lineage of hereditary chiefs) is often the guy with the white wife who lives in the nice predominately white suburbs of Seattle or Denver. This former revolutionary also tends to be very neighborly – he always has a very tasteful x-mas light display and keeps his lawn well-manicured – in between Columbus Day protests.
Back home, there was always mixed feelings toward white folks. I grew up thinking that “white” was a curse word, because my aunties would always say it under their breath when they used it in a sentence. My aunties, by the way, are amazing story tellers, and with their hushed tones and furrowed brows they can make anything sound scandalous (“You know that he’s really white”).
“He’s a Napikwon.”
Come to think of it, I wonder if they used those hushed tones when they talked about me. After all, I do have a little bit of German blood in me on my dad’s side. The German comes out when I wear lederhosen.
As an aside, I also grew up thinking that “Cree” and “Crow” were curse words because every time someone would call someone else a “Cree” or a “Crow” on the Blackfeet Rez there was a fight. It’s different for me since I have many close Cree and Crow friends and relatives. I love going to Rocky Boy or Crow Agency. I also realize, in hindsight, that it could have been any word that provoked those childhood fights – little Blackfeet boys just have a special way of calling other little boys names. It’s a skill of ours; we could have said “friend,” but made it sound vicious. Still, despite that disclaimer, there’s specialness to the Cree/Blackfeet/Crow rivalry that many other folks might not understand.
But “he/she’s white” always sounded particularly scandalous. And when people said “y’ know that he’s white” it usually meant that Skins felt that the white person got the job or some special treatment at the expense of the Skin (or a bunch of Skins).
Yet, despite many Skins’ general distrust of white people, it still seems like many Skins simultaneously tend to rely on/believe in white people more than they rely on/believe in Skins; especially when matters of competency are involved. For example, a brilliant friend of mine from Fort Belknap told me how he rallied people within his community to help organize voters. My friend told several Skins – who thought that they couldn’t vote because of past felonies – that they could, in fact, vote, and even pointed to the state law. Predictably, however, these skeptical Skins didn’t believe my informative Skin friend until a very nice and liberal white woman repeated exactly the same information that he just told them.
Reminds me of a quote from a very good movie, “Jungle Fever:” “I swear before God and four more white people…”
The thing that I wonder is why do white folks often seem to be the point of reference for us as Native people? I understand that at one point in history they had a certain amount of prominence in our psyche. We called the president “the great white father,” and the U.S. government was largely homogenous and white. And they really did, unfortunately, control a good deal of our ancestors’ lives – food, land and children. From our vantage point, it seemed like all white folks had it going on. And similar to the way the engineering industry is largely dominated by Indians (dot) – it’s understandable, if not entirely correct, to think that all Indians are successful engineers. Likewise, it was understandable to think white people were always in positions of power.
At those times in the past, white people were the image of power. Rightly or wrongly it still made sense, at least at the time.
But now, in 2009, there seems to be a residual perception amongst Skins that “white” still encompasses all that is “right.” There’s still a general pattern of successful Skins taking up with white partners – both men and women. Napikwons and napiakis. I’ve heard it said that “White women are to successful Skin men what headbands/bandanas are to Skin basketball players – it seems like Skin ballplayers always have one on, and while it may make them look good for a while they’ll probably end up with another Skin’s sweat on them.”
But I digress.
Still, I suspect that successful Skin men and women do not only pursue white partners because of the “status symbol” wife/husband thing. The “trophy wife” thing. It also seems like there’s a tendency to see “white” culture as normal in general – not just in romance.
An example – a friend, who is Navajo, told me of how some older men at his ceremonies disliked the way that the younger participants dressed. “Quit dressing like a gangster, those aren’t traditional clothes.” My friend told me that despite their clothing these young boys were earnestly seeking to learn the Navajo language; they zealously participated in the ceremonies. My friend felt that these young men should be congratulated and not chastised. Yet, these young men were criticized for not dressing as the older Skins felt was appropriate – like old Skins. Apparently old Skins dress like cowboys, wearing boots and a cowboy hat.
We’ve all seen “Dog: The Bounty Hunter,” “Married With Children,” and “Rock of Love” – we Skins should know by now that white people have just as many issues, if not more so, than Skins. White folks are weird! Still, some of us have a tendency to put them on a pedestal and think that they are the standard for what is normal.
What’s up with that? Is white right? Is God red? Is Bo Derek a 10? Is that why we cannot, to paraphrase Kylie Minogue, “get them out of our heads?” What do you Skins think?
By Gyasi Ross
Story Created: Jul 20, 2009
Skins tend to have interesting and complex relationships with white folks. Generally, we hate them or love them – we’re rarely indifferent. And the relationships with white folks are not always predictable. The Skins whom you most expect to have a good relationship with white folks – the half-white, half-Skin college sophomore, for example – is often the one who most loudly and aggressively asserts their dislike for “the white colonizer.”
And the former revolutionary full-blood from the remote rez (who comes from a long lineage of hereditary chiefs) is often the guy with the white wife who lives in the nice predominately white suburbs of Seattle or Denver. This former revolutionary also tends to be very neighborly – he always has a very tasteful x-mas light display and keeps his lawn well-manicured – in between Columbus Day protests.
Back home, there was always mixed feelings toward white folks. I grew up thinking that “white” was a curse word, because my aunties would always say it under their breath when they used it in a sentence. My aunties, by the way, are amazing story tellers, and with their hushed tones and furrowed brows they can make anything sound scandalous (“You know that he’s really white”).
“He’s a Napikwon.”
Come to think of it, I wonder if they used those hushed tones when they talked about me. After all, I do have a little bit of German blood in me on my dad’s side. The German comes out when I wear lederhosen.
As an aside, I also grew up thinking that “Cree” and “Crow” were curse words because every time someone would call someone else a “Cree” or a “Crow” on the Blackfeet Rez there was a fight. It’s different for me since I have many close Cree and Crow friends and relatives. I love going to Rocky Boy or Crow Agency. I also realize, in hindsight, that it could have been any word that provoked those childhood fights – little Blackfeet boys just have a special way of calling other little boys names. It’s a skill of ours; we could have said “friend,” but made it sound vicious. Still, despite that disclaimer, there’s specialness to the Cree/Blackfeet/Crow rivalry that many other folks might not understand.
But “he/she’s white” always sounded particularly scandalous. And when people said “y’ know that he’s white” it usually meant that Skins felt that the white person got the job or some special treatment at the expense of the Skin (or a bunch of Skins).
Yet, despite many Skins’ general distrust of white people, it still seems like many Skins simultaneously tend to rely on/believe in white people more than they rely on/believe in Skins; especially when matters of competency are involved. For example, a brilliant friend of mine from Fort Belknap told me how he rallied people within his community to help organize voters. My friend told several Skins – who thought that they couldn’t vote because of past felonies – that they could, in fact, vote, and even pointed to the state law. Predictably, however, these skeptical Skins didn’t believe my informative Skin friend until a very nice and liberal white woman repeated exactly the same information that he just told them.
Reminds me of a quote from a very good movie, “Jungle Fever:” “I swear before God and four more white people…”
The thing that I wonder is why do white folks often seem to be the point of reference for us as Native people? I understand that at one point in history they had a certain amount of prominence in our psyche. We called the president “the great white father,” and the U.S. government was largely homogenous and white. And they really did, unfortunately, control a good deal of our ancestors’ lives – food, land and children. From our vantage point, it seemed like all white folks had it going on. And similar to the way the engineering industry is largely dominated by Indians (dot) – it’s understandable, if not entirely correct, to think that all Indians are successful engineers. Likewise, it was understandable to think white people were always in positions of power.
At those times in the past, white people were the image of power. Rightly or wrongly it still made sense, at least at the time.
But now, in 2009, there seems to be a residual perception amongst Skins that “white” still encompasses all that is “right.” There’s still a general pattern of successful Skins taking up with white partners – both men and women. Napikwons and napiakis. I’ve heard it said that “White women are to successful Skin men what headbands/bandanas are to Skin basketball players – it seems like Skin ballplayers always have one on, and while it may make them look good for a while they’ll probably end up with another Skin’s sweat on them.”
But I digress.
Still, I suspect that successful Skin men and women do not only pursue white partners because of the “status symbol” wife/husband thing. The “trophy wife” thing. It also seems like there’s a tendency to see “white” culture as normal in general – not just in romance.
An example – a friend, who is Navajo, told me of how some older men at his ceremonies disliked the way that the younger participants dressed. “Quit dressing like a gangster, those aren’t traditional clothes.” My friend told me that despite their clothing these young boys were earnestly seeking to learn the Navajo language; they zealously participated in the ceremonies. My friend felt that these young men should be congratulated and not chastised. Yet, these young men were criticized for not dressing as the older Skins felt was appropriate – like old Skins. Apparently old Skins dress like cowboys, wearing boots and a cowboy hat.
We’ve all seen “Dog: The Bounty Hunter,” “Married With Children,” and “Rock of Love” – we Skins should know by now that white people have just as many issues, if not more so, than Skins. White folks are weird! Still, some of us have a tendency to put them on a pedestal and think that they are the standard for what is normal.
What’s up with that? Is white right? Is God red? Is Bo Derek a 10? Is that why we cannot, to paraphrase Kylie Minogue, “get them out of our heads?” What do you Skins think?
Insecurities
6.0: I’m so insecurr
By Gyasi Ross
Story Created: Jul 13, 2009
When I first moved from the reservation to the city, I felt like a fish out of water. Like a leopard with no spots. Like the New Kids on the Block without Donnie. Awkward. I was short and chubby. I was also a nearly-teenaged Skin, pigeon-toed with long and bushy hair – like a brown Axl Rose. I had an incredibly thick Starr School (the community from where my family comes) accent. I remember people always made fun of the way I said “bag.” Apparently it sounded like “beg.”
In short, I got teased a lot in the city. Thing is, I also got teased a lot on the rez. Through this strange cross-pollination of teasation, I became an expert on the fine art of teasing and also learned to differentiate between different types of teasing. I realized – because of my experiences being the perpetual victim of vicious wit – that all teasing is NOT created equally. There are, in fact, many specific types of teasing.
For example, on the rez, I tangled with a lot of older Skin kids and they systematically utilized a five-step process to tease me (“Wash. Repeat.”). I call it the “Build Me Up Buttercup” approach to teasing; they’d hurt me, but not too bad. They’d typically make fun of my sister’s lavender shoulder-padded shirt that I was forced to wear because we couldn’t afford to do laundry; make fun of the part of me that was not Skin (oh, 3/8ths or so); and, hit me. I would fall. Crying. They were slightly more aggressive and unsubtle on the rez than in the city. Still, I knew that we’d play kickball or basketball soon after – magically friends again.
And I usually forgot about the episode until we started again the next day.
In the city, however, it was much more passive aggressive – almost to the point where I thought the teasing was harmless, because there was no real physical aggression. I called this the non-Skin, “backstabbers” approach to teasing. See, I was much bigger by this time, and so my “friends” would tease me and sing songs (“♪Sing a song with meeeee, ♫Gyasi’s Ugleeeeee♫”) in a very friendly, smiling way. They’d make fun of my long and bushy hair, and tease me about my nose, which they said looked “broken,” as well as my big lips. I always laughed it off because, well, it was funny, right? Not everyone is born handsome or beautiful. I was just one of the unfortunate people.
Unlike the times when my older Skin friends beat me up on the rez, I never fell to the ground or cried. My only reaction was an uncomfortable smile and me wondering why I didn’t look like everyone else.
I remember – in reaction to the teasing in the city – I concluded that I wanted to look like one of my white friends; I wanted to appear exactly like the majority of the kids that went to my school. I asked my dad to cut my hair short. Thereafter, I’d put tons and tons of Aqua Net into my wavy/frizzy hair to try to make it go straight so I could have the cool, lil’ sexy “one-banged” look like Sonny Crockett on “Miami Vice” (which still might be the best show of all time, FYI). I remembered how even my amazing older sister was self-conscious about her “Blackfeet-nose” before me; I now empathized with her and tried to avoid girls seeing my profile. I learned to suck in my bottom lip as well, to draw attention away from it. I tried to change my accent. I paid attention to my vocabulary so that I didn’t “ho” or “ayes.”
The teasing in the city ensured that I wasn’t too fond of how I looked or the way I talked.
But I was still somehow convinced that this type of teasing was much more humane than the teasing that I received on the rez because I never got a bloody nose or a black eye. In retrospect, I realize that the backstabbers-style of teasing may have been more damaging than the black eyes and bloody noses – it caused me to hide myself. My “hiding” – being quiet, not speaking up, and trying to be anonymous lasted much longer than any of the bumps, bruises, cuts or scars that I endured on the rez. In fact, every once in a while I still feel myself defaulting to that awkward teenager, who later grew into a very tall, lanky and goofy looking Skin kid with a huge head and huge feet. Still, whether I was short and chubby or tall and goofy, it didn’t matter – I still didn’t want anybody else to see me.
Unless they saw me as Sonny Crockett.
Now, I know that I’m probably one of only a few who have ever felt insecure about being Skin. I know that nobody else has ever felt out of place in a mostly-non-Skin world. I know that “Native Pride” will not allow most Skins to feel completely uncomfortable in their own skin. Still, I have to admit that I was fairly uncomfortable from the time I moved to the city until high school – when sports started to allow me to find my social comfort zone. Yet, I’m curious for those few that have felt insecure about being Skin, how did you get over those feelings? How do you plan to pass that peace of mind to your children – so they do not likewise feel uncomfortable?
What do you Skins think?
By Gyasi Ross
Story Created: Jul 13, 2009
When I first moved from the reservation to the city, I felt like a fish out of water. Like a leopard with no spots. Like the New Kids on the Block without Donnie. Awkward. I was short and chubby. I was also a nearly-teenaged Skin, pigeon-toed with long and bushy hair – like a brown Axl Rose. I had an incredibly thick Starr School (the community from where my family comes) accent. I remember people always made fun of the way I said “bag.” Apparently it sounded like “beg.”
In short, I got teased a lot in the city. Thing is, I also got teased a lot on the rez. Through this strange cross-pollination of teasation, I became an expert on the fine art of teasing and also learned to differentiate between different types of teasing. I realized – because of my experiences being the perpetual victim of vicious wit – that all teasing is NOT created equally. There are, in fact, many specific types of teasing.
For example, on the rez, I tangled with a lot of older Skin kids and they systematically utilized a five-step process to tease me (“Wash. Repeat.”). I call it the “Build Me Up Buttercup” approach to teasing; they’d hurt me, but not too bad. They’d typically make fun of my sister’s lavender shoulder-padded shirt that I was forced to wear because we couldn’t afford to do laundry; make fun of the part of me that was not Skin (oh, 3/8ths or so); and, hit me. I would fall. Crying. They were slightly more aggressive and unsubtle on the rez than in the city. Still, I knew that we’d play kickball or basketball soon after – magically friends again.
And I usually forgot about the episode until we started again the next day.
In the city, however, it was much more passive aggressive – almost to the point where I thought the teasing was harmless, because there was no real physical aggression. I called this the non-Skin, “backstabbers” approach to teasing. See, I was much bigger by this time, and so my “friends” would tease me and sing songs (“♪Sing a song with meeeee, ♫Gyasi’s Ugleeeeee♫”) in a very friendly, smiling way. They’d make fun of my long and bushy hair, and tease me about my nose, which they said looked “broken,” as well as my big lips. I always laughed it off because, well, it was funny, right? Not everyone is born handsome or beautiful. I was just one of the unfortunate people.
Unlike the times when my older Skin friends beat me up on the rez, I never fell to the ground or cried. My only reaction was an uncomfortable smile and me wondering why I didn’t look like everyone else.
I remember – in reaction to the teasing in the city – I concluded that I wanted to look like one of my white friends; I wanted to appear exactly like the majority of the kids that went to my school. I asked my dad to cut my hair short. Thereafter, I’d put tons and tons of Aqua Net into my wavy/frizzy hair to try to make it go straight so I could have the cool, lil’ sexy “one-banged” look like Sonny Crockett on “Miami Vice” (which still might be the best show of all time, FYI). I remembered how even my amazing older sister was self-conscious about her “Blackfeet-nose” before me; I now empathized with her and tried to avoid girls seeing my profile. I learned to suck in my bottom lip as well, to draw attention away from it. I tried to change my accent. I paid attention to my vocabulary so that I didn’t “ho” or “ayes.”
The teasing in the city ensured that I wasn’t too fond of how I looked or the way I talked.
But I was still somehow convinced that this type of teasing was much more humane than the teasing that I received on the rez because I never got a bloody nose or a black eye. In retrospect, I realize that the backstabbers-style of teasing may have been more damaging than the black eyes and bloody noses – it caused me to hide myself. My “hiding” – being quiet, not speaking up, and trying to be anonymous lasted much longer than any of the bumps, bruises, cuts or scars that I endured on the rez. In fact, every once in a while I still feel myself defaulting to that awkward teenager, who later grew into a very tall, lanky and goofy looking Skin kid with a huge head and huge feet. Still, whether I was short and chubby or tall and goofy, it didn’t matter – I still didn’t want anybody else to see me.
Unless they saw me as Sonny Crockett.
Now, I know that I’m probably one of only a few who have ever felt insecure about being Skin. I know that nobody else has ever felt out of place in a mostly-non-Skin world. I know that “Native Pride” will not allow most Skins to feel completely uncomfortable in their own skin. Still, I have to admit that I was fairly uncomfortable from the time I moved to the city until high school – when sports started to allow me to find my social comfort zone. Yet, I’m curious for those few that have felt insecure about being Skin, how did you get over those feelings? How do you plan to pass that peace of mind to your children – so they do not likewise feel uncomfortable?
What do you Skins think?
Introduction
5.0: Introduction
By Gyasi Ross
Story Created: Jul 6, 2009
We’ll all gladly admit that Native people have come a long way in a very short period of time. At the beginning of the 20th century things were an absolute disaster. The Skin population within the United States was only about a quarter of a million people, our families were messes largely because of forced adoptions and boarding schools, and our lands were being auctioned and pawned off en masse via allotment. Bad stuff.
Yet, in the span of barely 100 years, a few tribes went from dirt poor to obscenely rich, and many more transitioned from dirt poorer to stable. Tribes have also largely addressed the most basic issues – food, shelter, clothing – and are now able to focus on loftier goals – politics and education, for example. Still, all that glitters is not gold.
This is Part 5 of “The Thing About Skins,” but oddly enough, it is the introduction to the series. Supposedly this series contains a few thoughts on what has occurred as a result of Skins’ recent success in the world. While this may not be, as Paul Harvey so profoundly posited, “the rest of the story,” it is, at least, more of the story. Questions and observances if you will. I am not a scholar, a politician or a preacher – I don’t know all the answers. But I am a curious person, as I think most of us are. So I’ll ask some questions about assumptions that I (and hopefully a few other people) hold.
We’ll start with the assumption that Skins’ prolific mating habits are a good thing. I mean, it has to be a good thing that there are a lot more Skins in the United States than there were 100 years ago, right?
Well, let’s see.
According to the 2000 census there are more than 4.1 million self-identified Skins, “alone or in combination” with another race. That’s probably a bit high. Now, we can probably split that number in half for the “grandmother was” stories (many of these say that they’re Cherokee or Blackfoot. Why us?). After that, we can probably subtract another 100,000 or so “East Indians” who mistakenly identified as “American Indians/Alaska Natives.” Finally, we have to add a few people. There are some folks who always thought that they were white – they were adopted into white families and their parents never told them that there really was, in fact, a reason they felt so satisfied when they ate fruit cocktail or meatball stew.
So we’re probably really dealing with about two, maybe two-and-a-half million Skins.
Despite the inflated numbers, there’s still a lot more of us than any time before the Civil War. And the number’s ever-growing – and when I say “ever,” boy do I mean “ever!” Now, much like Whitney Houston and my beautiful mom, I believe that children are our future.
Yet, Skins are a dynamic people – not at all relegated to the past’s strictures or conventions. One consequence of being a dynamic people and loving procreation, however, is that Skins have mimicked and perfected the United States’ love affair with single-parent families (just as a shorthand, 63 percent of Native children are born to unmarried mothers, compared to 25 percent for white women. Only black women, ethnically, have a higher percentage of unmarried mothers, according to the Child Trends Data Bank, “Percentage of Births to Unmarried Mothers.”). Consequently, many of these beautiful Native children, who are of course the future, are raised in homes that simply cannot provide an ideal amount of support for them.
Now, I’m not saying that Skins historically were the most monogamous people – some tribes were, and some tribes were not. That’s not the point. Also, obviously Euro and Christian values play a large part in what we consider “conventional.” My suspicion, however, is that there was a time, married, monogamous, or not, where the success, well-being and love of the child was worked-toward and invested-in. It didn’t matter if the parents were married, monogamous, or not. And my suspicion goes further, based upon conversations with folks who know a lot more history than I do, that there were actual consequences for deadbeat daddy-ism (or deadbeat mommy-ism, but I imagine that this was a rarer phenomenon).
To wit, I – like most of my close male friends – grew up with a single mother. Our wonderful mothers, almost unilaterally, absolutely loved us. We were their little princes and they essentially raised us to be their husbands – to make up for the absence of a man in the home. My uncles provided the discipline (belts, willows and all that). In theory, this sounds beautiful – you’ve heard it before, “I grew up close with my family because of abandonment, poverty and dysfunction.” Sounds sweet, right?
Still, the practical truth was that it sucked not having a dad around for many reasons, and I have to think that it’s not ideal for other kids as well. Now I’m not saying everybody should run out and get married (God forbid – I’m certainly not!). But it does seem like the idea of making Skin kids just for the sake of making more Skin kids may be just setting them up for a difficult life.
A fair question, then, would seem to be, “Is the Skin population boom really an altogether good thing?” It sounds cool to say, “Yes, the more Skin kids, the better” – but is that really the case?
I’m just not sure that we have the same investment in our children that we once did – especially we Skin men. Yeah, we’re bridging some population gaps and we can certainly be thankful for our peoples’ resurgence – it shows that we’re physically healthy. Yet, I’m not positive that the way to true equality and access to opportunity for Skins is by bombarding the world with gobs of kids, without true supervision, mentorship and parenting.
What do you Skins think?
By Gyasi Ross
Story Created: Jul 6, 2009
We’ll all gladly admit that Native people have come a long way in a very short period of time. At the beginning of the 20th century things were an absolute disaster. The Skin population within the United States was only about a quarter of a million people, our families were messes largely because of forced adoptions and boarding schools, and our lands were being auctioned and pawned off en masse via allotment. Bad stuff.
Yet, in the span of barely 100 years, a few tribes went from dirt poor to obscenely rich, and many more transitioned from dirt poorer to stable. Tribes have also largely addressed the most basic issues – food, shelter, clothing – and are now able to focus on loftier goals – politics and education, for example. Still, all that glitters is not gold.
This is Part 5 of “The Thing About Skins,” but oddly enough, it is the introduction to the series. Supposedly this series contains a few thoughts on what has occurred as a result of Skins’ recent success in the world. While this may not be, as Paul Harvey so profoundly posited, “the rest of the story,” it is, at least, more of the story. Questions and observances if you will. I am not a scholar, a politician or a preacher – I don’t know all the answers. But I am a curious person, as I think most of us are. So I’ll ask some questions about assumptions that I (and hopefully a few other people) hold.
We’ll start with the assumption that Skins’ prolific mating habits are a good thing. I mean, it has to be a good thing that there are a lot more Skins in the United States than there were 100 years ago, right?
Well, let’s see.
According to the 2000 census there are more than 4.1 million self-identified Skins, “alone or in combination” with another race. That’s probably a bit high. Now, we can probably split that number in half for the “grandmother was” stories (many of these say that they’re Cherokee or Blackfoot. Why us?). After that, we can probably subtract another 100,000 or so “East Indians” who mistakenly identified as “American Indians/Alaska Natives.” Finally, we have to add a few people. There are some folks who always thought that they were white – they were adopted into white families and their parents never told them that there really was, in fact, a reason they felt so satisfied when they ate fruit cocktail or meatball stew.
So we’re probably really dealing with about two, maybe two-and-a-half million Skins.
Despite the inflated numbers, there’s still a lot more of us than any time before the Civil War. And the number’s ever-growing – and when I say “ever,” boy do I mean “ever!” Now, much like Whitney Houston and my beautiful mom, I believe that children are our future.
Yet, Skins are a dynamic people – not at all relegated to the past’s strictures or conventions. One consequence of being a dynamic people and loving procreation, however, is that Skins have mimicked and perfected the United States’ love affair with single-parent families (just as a shorthand, 63 percent of Native children are born to unmarried mothers, compared to 25 percent for white women. Only black women, ethnically, have a higher percentage of unmarried mothers, according to the Child Trends Data Bank, “Percentage of Births to Unmarried Mothers.”). Consequently, many of these beautiful Native children, who are of course the future, are raised in homes that simply cannot provide an ideal amount of support for them.
Now, I’m not saying that Skins historically were the most monogamous people – some tribes were, and some tribes were not. That’s not the point. Also, obviously Euro and Christian values play a large part in what we consider “conventional.” My suspicion, however, is that there was a time, married, monogamous, or not, where the success, well-being and love of the child was worked-toward and invested-in. It didn’t matter if the parents were married, monogamous, or not. And my suspicion goes further, based upon conversations with folks who know a lot more history than I do, that there were actual consequences for deadbeat daddy-ism (or deadbeat mommy-ism, but I imagine that this was a rarer phenomenon).
To wit, I – like most of my close male friends – grew up with a single mother. Our wonderful mothers, almost unilaterally, absolutely loved us. We were their little princes and they essentially raised us to be their husbands – to make up for the absence of a man in the home. My uncles provided the discipline (belts, willows and all that). In theory, this sounds beautiful – you’ve heard it before, “I grew up close with my family because of abandonment, poverty and dysfunction.” Sounds sweet, right?
Still, the practical truth was that it sucked not having a dad around for many reasons, and I have to think that it’s not ideal for other kids as well. Now I’m not saying everybody should run out and get married (God forbid – I’m certainly not!). But it does seem like the idea of making Skin kids just for the sake of making more Skin kids may be just setting them up for a difficult life.
A fair question, then, would seem to be, “Is the Skin population boom really an altogether good thing?” It sounds cool to say, “Yes, the more Skin kids, the better” – but is that really the case?
I’m just not sure that we have the same investment in our children that we once did – especially we Skin men. Yeah, we’re bridging some population gaps and we can certainly be thankful for our peoples’ resurgence – it shows that we’re physically healthy. Yet, I’m not positive that the way to true equality and access to opportunity for Skins is by bombarding the world with gobs of kids, without true supervision, mentorship and parenting.
What do you Skins think?
ICWA
4.0: In the family way
By Gyasi Ross
Story Created: Jun 29, 2009
I’ve always considered myself lucky to have so many adopted Skin uncles and grandpas. “Indian way,” they say. What “Indian way” means, by the way, is that I’ll never get to drive my dear uncle/grandpa’s 1978 Ford pick-up or be able to hit him up for a job. This is a very unfortunate development because I also will never get to mate with their daughters/nieces/granddaughters because now the womenfolk are my aunties/cousins/sisters by adoption. And that would be incest. And that’s just wrong.
So it’s a lose-lose.
Anyway, it’s safe to say that I will never a) get any loot, or b) get to snag up as a result of these adoptions. Still, it’s really quite flattering when an old Skin friend wants to be your uncle/grandpa. It means that unlike my biological family, they cannot say – as my biological family actually has said on a few occasions – that they did not choose for me to be related to them. It also means that I can feel justified in eating for free at their house whenever I want, and when I stay over at their houses I can lie on their couches in only my boxers while watching “Family Guy” and “Reno 911.”
‘Cause that’s what I did at my biological grandparents’ house (although they wouldn’t let me borrow their 1978 Ford pick-up, either). But I digress.
The reason why I bring up adoptions is because there has been some hubbub recently about a report from CNN. The report contained some interesting thoughts, as well as some arguably offensive reporting about Skin adoptions and the Indian Child Welfare Act. Since the report came out, many Skins have gotten up in arms and advocated boycotts of CNN. Some others have asked for air-time on CNN (I wonder if Skins would boycott the proposed ICWA show?).
The report in question concerned a non-Skin reporter telling a story about a non-Skin couple who had to return a Skin baby to the Leech Lake Tribe per the Indian Child Welfare Act. The reporter raised legitimate questions about whether the child is now in a better position than he would be without the Indian Child Welfare Act.
Fair enough. No law is perfect – we’d be naïve to think otherwise.
The problem was, from my purview, that the reporter has no context as to why the Indian Child Welfare Act is such an important law for Native people. She obviously didn’t understand that the law was enacted because in some states with large Skin populations an estimated 25 – 35 percent of Native children had been in out-of-home placement or adoptive homes at some point in their lives. She obviously hasn’t been around Indian country long enough to know that the terrible situation that created the need for the Indian Child Welfare Act wasn’t an accident – there had been a concerted effort to break up Native families.
The Indian Child Welfare Act was created to help, along with solidifying social services on reservations, put those families back together again.
We should be thankful for the Indian Child Welfare Act’s enactment. We should protect that effort. That’s what the Skins who demanded boycotts of CNN, air-time on CNN and denounced the report were doing. God bless them for that.
Still, I think that some of the responses were slightly off-target. For example, I don’t think that the report shows any media bias against Skins, even though it definitely shows ignorance and unfamiliarity with Skins. Let’s be serious – aside from an occasional commercial for a tribal casino or John Redcorn on “King of the Hill, the media isn’t concerned with tribes. We’re simply not a big enough audience. The media cares about the bottom line – dollars – and so it’s surprising, frankly, that a report was even done on Skins on CNN, factually incorrect or not. When’s the last time that’s happened?
Unfortunately, the report that did come out – the one causing all the furor – was flawed and based upon a lack of information. Of the potential remedies for this situation, boycotting, going on CNN to correct the record, or denouncing the report as racially biased, I have to think that our best option is to try to get these folks better information. I mean, if we merely boycott, who cares? Seriously – we’re half of one percent of the U.S. population, and really – how many of us have cable? I’m not sure that it’s enough to scare ol’ Teddy Turner. My guess is that we should get these outlets as accurate of information as possible. But that’s just me.
What do you Skins think?
By Gyasi Ross
Story Created: Jun 29, 2009
I’ve always considered myself lucky to have so many adopted Skin uncles and grandpas. “Indian way,” they say. What “Indian way” means, by the way, is that I’ll never get to drive my dear uncle/grandpa’s 1978 Ford pick-up or be able to hit him up for a job. This is a very unfortunate development because I also will never get to mate with their daughters/nieces/granddaughters because now the womenfolk are my aunties/cousins/sisters by adoption. And that would be incest. And that’s just wrong.
So it’s a lose-lose.
Anyway, it’s safe to say that I will never a) get any loot, or b) get to snag up as a result of these adoptions. Still, it’s really quite flattering when an old Skin friend wants to be your uncle/grandpa. It means that unlike my biological family, they cannot say – as my biological family actually has said on a few occasions – that they did not choose for me to be related to them. It also means that I can feel justified in eating for free at their house whenever I want, and when I stay over at their houses I can lie on their couches in only my boxers while watching “Family Guy” and “Reno 911.”
‘Cause that’s what I did at my biological grandparents’ house (although they wouldn’t let me borrow their 1978 Ford pick-up, either). But I digress.
The reason why I bring up adoptions is because there has been some hubbub recently about a report from CNN. The report contained some interesting thoughts, as well as some arguably offensive reporting about Skin adoptions and the Indian Child Welfare Act. Since the report came out, many Skins have gotten up in arms and advocated boycotts of CNN. Some others have asked for air-time on CNN (I wonder if Skins would boycott the proposed ICWA show?).
The report in question concerned a non-Skin reporter telling a story about a non-Skin couple who had to return a Skin baby to the Leech Lake Tribe per the Indian Child Welfare Act. The reporter raised legitimate questions about whether the child is now in a better position than he would be without the Indian Child Welfare Act.
Fair enough. No law is perfect – we’d be naïve to think otherwise.
The problem was, from my purview, that the reporter has no context as to why the Indian Child Welfare Act is such an important law for Native people. She obviously didn’t understand that the law was enacted because in some states with large Skin populations an estimated 25 – 35 percent of Native children had been in out-of-home placement or adoptive homes at some point in their lives. She obviously hasn’t been around Indian country long enough to know that the terrible situation that created the need for the Indian Child Welfare Act wasn’t an accident – there had been a concerted effort to break up Native families.
The Indian Child Welfare Act was created to help, along with solidifying social services on reservations, put those families back together again.
We should be thankful for the Indian Child Welfare Act’s enactment. We should protect that effort. That’s what the Skins who demanded boycotts of CNN, air-time on CNN and denounced the report were doing. God bless them for that.
Still, I think that some of the responses were slightly off-target. For example, I don’t think that the report shows any media bias against Skins, even though it definitely shows ignorance and unfamiliarity with Skins. Let’s be serious – aside from an occasional commercial for a tribal casino or John Redcorn on “King of the Hill, the media isn’t concerned with tribes. We’re simply not a big enough audience. The media cares about the bottom line – dollars – and so it’s surprising, frankly, that a report was even done on Skins on CNN, factually incorrect or not. When’s the last time that’s happened?
Unfortunately, the report that did come out – the one causing all the furor – was flawed and based upon a lack of information. Of the potential remedies for this situation, boycotting, going on CNN to correct the record, or denouncing the report as racially biased, I have to think that our best option is to try to get these folks better information. I mean, if we merely boycott, who cares? Seriously – we’re half of one percent of the U.S. population, and really – how many of us have cable? I’m not sure that it’s enough to scare ol’ Teddy Turner. My guess is that we should get these outlets as accurate of information as possible. But that’s just me.
What do you Skins think?
Skin Movies
3.0: Skin night at the movies
By Gyasi Ross
Story Created: Jun 22, 2009
I come from a corny Skin family – we unapologetically love what we love. It can be anything; if we dig it, we are hopelessly uncool and shameless in our affection for it.
For example, we were big into “Hungry Hungry Hippos.” We had Hungry Hippo night on the weekends when we didn’t rent a video disc machine and some classic movies. Another example: My wonderful and stylish sisters loved to wear their blazer sleeves pushed up like Molly Ringwald in “Pretty in Pink.” Tacky. Terrible. True. Like I said, we love what we love.
Another thing that my family absolutely loves – unabashedly – is seeing other Skins on television or in the movies. The Skin actor/actress doesn’t even have to be a big part – bit roles are just as much sources of pride. Oh yeah, and cartoons work too! We were ecstatic to see the small, yet inspiring role of the Alaska Native lady with the really, really, really big breasts in “The Simpsons” movie. John Redcorn from King of the Hill and Apache Chief from the Superfriends? My heroes. My non-athletic mother, to this day, does three back flips whenever she sees Chief Bromden in “One Flew Over the Cuckoo’s Nest.”
Big role or large role, either way, my mom excitedly points them out and asks – “You know that he’s Indian, right?”
Of course, mom; we used to have the video disc.
My friends are slightly different than me and my family. It seems like many of them love to dissect and analyze every single Skin role – on television or in movie – for accuracy and stereotypes. Not that seeking accuracy is bad in any way – it’s just that for me, movies are movies, not documentaries.
For example, once upon a broke Friday night, one of my closest friends from Acoma Pueblo and I got into a heated debate about the Disney movie, “Pocahontas.” I didn’t realize the hornet’s nest that I got myself into – I spoke glowingly of the movie. I told her how much my nieces LOVED the movie and that I frankly thought that, for a cartoon character, Pocahontas was extremely hot. Almost Jessica Rabbit hot. [And let’s keep it real – Jessica’s body was absolutely out of this world. And Jessica’s lips? Wow. Jessica Rabbit’s lips are the definition of pouty – they just did not make any sense. But I digress.]
But my friend didn’t agree. In fact, I’m sure she used a few curse words when she told me how disgraceful and bad the depiction of Pocahontas really was. My dear friend talked about how Pocahontas didn’t really marry John Smith but that Pocahontas had been captured. And while captured, Pocahontas met John Rolfe – her future hubby. The truth was very different than the Disney cartoon’s depiction of how she met her husband. Yes.
Also, slightly different from the way that I meet women; kinda.
Anyway, my wonderful and brilliant friend from Acoma was incredibly upset about the artistic license that was taken in the movie. And I tend to like all Disney cartoons (“Lion King”? “Mulan”?) – but I liked this one ever more because 1.) Pocahontas was hot; and because 2.) There was an image of a Skin on the big screen. Sure she was animated – but she was undoubtedly a Skin. When it came down to it, my Acoma friend and I simply had two very different takes on the movie. And my argument, “It’s a cartoon. … I doubt the tree really spoke to her and the raccoon seems slightly unrealistic as well,” was not gaining any momentum. Mind you, my main point was simply that my nieces and little sisters and lots and lots of other little Skin girls finally got to see a Skin woman on television.
And I was happy for that. But maybe I shouldn’t have been. Maybe I should be offended when a portrayal of our people comes on television or at the movie theater that isn’t 100 percent correct. Maybe the hundreds and hundreds of Pueblo and Navajo girls who congregated at the Gallup movie theater when “Pocahontas” came out were wrong to enjoy the movie. Maybe they should’ve been more politically savvy and protested the movie. Maybe my family, and people like us, are too simplistic and just don’t know any better to be offended.
I remember being at the National Museum of the American Indian in NYC for a film festival. In a question and answer session, some of the Skin directors and producers wouldn’t even refer to “Dances With Wolves” by its proper name. They just called it “That movie” or “DWW.”
My mom and my sisters and aunties think that “Dances with Wolves” is a great movie. They love seeing all the handsome Skin men on horses. I think they even liked the plot. Are they just too non-political to realize that they should be offended by it? Should we dissect every movie and demand that every movie with Skins in it be 100 percent historically accurate? I’m pretty darn sure that not every Chinese man knows kung-fu or runs on top of trees like in “Crouching Tiger, Hidden Dragon.” I’m almost positive that not every black man dresses in drag and speaks in a high-pitched voice like in the Madea movies. Still, there doesn’t seem to be the same outcry. Are movies about Skins somehow different from other movies? Do they require more historical accuracy and sensitivity than Chinese movies or black movies? Are we that fragile?
What do you Skins think?
By Gyasi Ross
Story Created: Jun 22, 2009
I come from a corny Skin family – we unapologetically love what we love. It can be anything; if we dig it, we are hopelessly uncool and shameless in our affection for it.
For example, we were big into “Hungry Hungry Hippos.” We had Hungry Hippo night on the weekends when we didn’t rent a video disc machine and some classic movies. Another example: My wonderful and stylish sisters loved to wear their blazer sleeves pushed up like Molly Ringwald in “Pretty in Pink.” Tacky. Terrible. True. Like I said, we love what we love.
Another thing that my family absolutely loves – unabashedly – is seeing other Skins on television or in the movies. The Skin actor/actress doesn’t even have to be a big part – bit roles are just as much sources of pride. Oh yeah, and cartoons work too! We were ecstatic to see the small, yet inspiring role of the Alaska Native lady with the really, really, really big breasts in “The Simpsons” movie. John Redcorn from King of the Hill and Apache Chief from the Superfriends? My heroes. My non-athletic mother, to this day, does three back flips whenever she sees Chief Bromden in “One Flew Over the Cuckoo’s Nest.”
Big role or large role, either way, my mom excitedly points them out and asks – “You know that he’s Indian, right?”
Of course, mom; we used to have the video disc.
My friends are slightly different than me and my family. It seems like many of them love to dissect and analyze every single Skin role – on television or in movie – for accuracy and stereotypes. Not that seeking accuracy is bad in any way – it’s just that for me, movies are movies, not documentaries.
For example, once upon a broke Friday night, one of my closest friends from Acoma Pueblo and I got into a heated debate about the Disney movie, “Pocahontas.” I didn’t realize the hornet’s nest that I got myself into – I spoke glowingly of the movie. I told her how much my nieces LOVED the movie and that I frankly thought that, for a cartoon character, Pocahontas was extremely hot. Almost Jessica Rabbit hot. [And let’s keep it real – Jessica’s body was absolutely out of this world. And Jessica’s lips? Wow. Jessica Rabbit’s lips are the definition of pouty – they just did not make any sense. But I digress.]
But my friend didn’t agree. In fact, I’m sure she used a few curse words when she told me how disgraceful and bad the depiction of Pocahontas really was. My dear friend talked about how Pocahontas didn’t really marry John Smith but that Pocahontas had been captured. And while captured, Pocahontas met John Rolfe – her future hubby. The truth was very different than the Disney cartoon’s depiction of how she met her husband. Yes.
Also, slightly different from the way that I meet women; kinda.
Anyway, my wonderful and brilliant friend from Acoma was incredibly upset about the artistic license that was taken in the movie. And I tend to like all Disney cartoons (“Lion King”? “Mulan”?) – but I liked this one ever more because 1.) Pocahontas was hot; and because 2.) There was an image of a Skin on the big screen. Sure she was animated – but she was undoubtedly a Skin. When it came down to it, my Acoma friend and I simply had two very different takes on the movie. And my argument, “It’s a cartoon. … I doubt the tree really spoke to her and the raccoon seems slightly unrealistic as well,” was not gaining any momentum. Mind you, my main point was simply that my nieces and little sisters and lots and lots of other little Skin girls finally got to see a Skin woman on television.
And I was happy for that. But maybe I shouldn’t have been. Maybe I should be offended when a portrayal of our people comes on television or at the movie theater that isn’t 100 percent correct. Maybe the hundreds and hundreds of Pueblo and Navajo girls who congregated at the Gallup movie theater when “Pocahontas” came out were wrong to enjoy the movie. Maybe they should’ve been more politically savvy and protested the movie. Maybe my family, and people like us, are too simplistic and just don’t know any better to be offended.
I remember being at the National Museum of the American Indian in NYC for a film festival. In a question and answer session, some of the Skin directors and producers wouldn’t even refer to “Dances With Wolves” by its proper name. They just called it “That movie” or “DWW.”
My mom and my sisters and aunties think that “Dances with Wolves” is a great movie. They love seeing all the handsome Skin men on horses. I think they even liked the plot. Are they just too non-political to realize that they should be offended by it? Should we dissect every movie and demand that every movie with Skins in it be 100 percent historically accurate? I’m pretty darn sure that not every Chinese man knows kung-fu or runs on top of trees like in “Crouching Tiger, Hidden Dragon.” I’m almost positive that not every black man dresses in drag and speaks in a high-pitched voice like in the Madea movies. Still, there doesn’t seem to be the same outcry. Are movies about Skins somehow different from other movies? Do they require more historical accuracy and sensitivity than Chinese movies or black movies? Are we that fragile?
What do you Skins think?
Fancy Skins
2.0: Fancy Skins
By Gyasi Ross
Story Created: Jun 15, 2009
On the Blackfeet reservation, they call it “acting good.” Folks who act good – the fancy Skins – are on every rez and every city with a large Indian population. Most Skins are not the fancy type, mind you. Still everyone knows them – the kind of Skin that always has a conference to attend, who always drops names, who went away to school and always talks about his/her time away at school.
Native lawyers are the ultimate fancy Skins. They’re fancy Skins on steroids, Creatine and HGH. They love their schools shamelessly. They have screensavers of their alma maters of which their wives get jealous. These fancy Skins look lustily at the screensavers and think of how they were able to play fantasy baseball with the good white folks at school and have real, “deep conversation.” They miss those days.
Native lawyers especially love conferences and dropping names. They love conferences more than non-fancy Skins love mullets, stick game, tripe and Wal-Mart. They actively seek out opportunities to drop the names of other fancy Skins. “Dr. Such-and-such, esq. and I used to shut down Midnight Rodeo during the Federal Bar conference every year while I was a professor at DeVry Tech Law School of Gaithersburg.” It’s considered a coup of some sorts to be able to: 1. Shout out your alma mater; 2. Drop a name of a fancy Skin; and 3. Mention a conference you attended all in the same sentence. Extra fancy points.
Nothing wrong with being educated though, right? There are those rare educated Skins who actually seek to help Native people. God bless those folks who get a doctorate or juris doctorate or MSW et al. and specifically do not plan on getting rich. Instead they plan on working with actual Native people (imagine that). Even more, these non-fancy educated Skins probably would not have even gone to school except to work with Native people. A few Skin lawyers – not many – fall into this category; they take up hopeless causes and are truly heartbroken when the Supreme Court hands down yet another bad decision. They are heartbroken because, as a Skin lawyer friend who does tend to work for the downtrodden put it, “He has sweat equity in it (the losses).” These folks tend to lose sleep, get a bit frazzled and have imperfect hair.
But that doesn’t seem to be the bulk of the fancy Skins. Instead, it seems like there’s a fairly big gap between the fancy Skins and the non-fancy Skins. White folks generally give fancy Skins the opportunity to speak for all of the other Skins. The fancy Skins gladly take this opportunity, even though they don’t seem to know the concerns of all of the other Skins. The fancy Skins don’t seem to know the pain, needs or aspirations of the non-fancy Skins. Yet the fancy Skins get to do all of the talking. And most of the talking is generally only to other fancy Skins and white folks – never getting input from the people that they’re supposed to represent.
Case in point: I recall vividly a very fancy Skin one time pontificating and congratulating himself on all the incredible progress that he and his lobbying group had accomplished for Native people. He sang his own praises in a very public setting – on a panel, with other fancy Skins who also felt very good about their accomplishments. One particular audience member from a poorer tribe stood up after the panel and thanked the panel members over and over for all of the work that they’ve done for Native people. The audience member said that it “meant a lot.” Then the young audience member said that while he was very thankful for all of the great things that they had done for Native people, he was nonetheless curious when some of the Native people that he knew would receive some benefit from these incredible accomplishments?
Did this young Skin have a point? Is there a cultural divide between the fancy Skins and the non-fancy Skins?
What do you Skins think?
By Gyasi Ross
Story Created: Jun 15, 2009
On the Blackfeet reservation, they call it “acting good.” Folks who act good – the fancy Skins – are on every rez and every city with a large Indian population. Most Skins are not the fancy type, mind you. Still everyone knows them – the kind of Skin that always has a conference to attend, who always drops names, who went away to school and always talks about his/her time away at school.
Native lawyers are the ultimate fancy Skins. They’re fancy Skins on steroids, Creatine and HGH. They love their schools shamelessly. They have screensavers of their alma maters of which their wives get jealous. These fancy Skins look lustily at the screensavers and think of how they were able to play fantasy baseball with the good white folks at school and have real, “deep conversation.” They miss those days.
Native lawyers especially love conferences and dropping names. They love conferences more than non-fancy Skins love mullets, stick game, tripe and Wal-Mart. They actively seek out opportunities to drop the names of other fancy Skins. “Dr. Such-and-such, esq. and I used to shut down Midnight Rodeo during the Federal Bar conference every year while I was a professor at DeVry Tech Law School of Gaithersburg.” It’s considered a coup of some sorts to be able to: 1. Shout out your alma mater; 2. Drop a name of a fancy Skin; and 3. Mention a conference you attended all in the same sentence. Extra fancy points.
Nothing wrong with being educated though, right? There are those rare educated Skins who actually seek to help Native people. God bless those folks who get a doctorate or juris doctorate or MSW et al. and specifically do not plan on getting rich. Instead they plan on working with actual Native people (imagine that). Even more, these non-fancy educated Skins probably would not have even gone to school except to work with Native people. A few Skin lawyers – not many – fall into this category; they take up hopeless causes and are truly heartbroken when the Supreme Court hands down yet another bad decision. They are heartbroken because, as a Skin lawyer friend who does tend to work for the downtrodden put it, “He has sweat equity in it (the losses).” These folks tend to lose sleep, get a bit frazzled and have imperfect hair.
But that doesn’t seem to be the bulk of the fancy Skins. Instead, it seems like there’s a fairly big gap between the fancy Skins and the non-fancy Skins. White folks generally give fancy Skins the opportunity to speak for all of the other Skins. The fancy Skins gladly take this opportunity, even though they don’t seem to know the concerns of all of the other Skins. The fancy Skins don’t seem to know the pain, needs or aspirations of the non-fancy Skins. Yet the fancy Skins get to do all of the talking. And most of the talking is generally only to other fancy Skins and white folks – never getting input from the people that they’re supposed to represent.
Case in point: I recall vividly a very fancy Skin one time pontificating and congratulating himself on all the incredible progress that he and his lobbying group had accomplished for Native people. He sang his own praises in a very public setting – on a panel, with other fancy Skins who also felt very good about their accomplishments. One particular audience member from a poorer tribe stood up after the panel and thanked the panel members over and over for all of the work that they’ve done for Native people. The audience member said that it “meant a lot.” Then the young audience member said that while he was very thankful for all of the great things that they had done for Native people, he was nonetheless curious when some of the Native people that he knew would receive some benefit from these incredible accomplishments?
Did this young Skin have a point? Is there a cultural divide between the fancy Skins and the non-fancy Skins?
What do you Skins think?
Skin Mothers
1.0: Skin moms rule
By Gyasi Ross
Story Created: Jun 8, 2009
My mother is an incredible mother. She is one of those amazing Skin mothers who used to mix up our powdered milk before we woke up. She’d put the well-mixed powdered milk into an old milk carton so that we would think that it was “real milk” when we ate our Farina or oatmeal (or Cap’n Crunch on the first to the fifth of each month).
My beautiful older sisters – both sisters are mothers now themselves – say that my mom breastfed me till I was 8 years old and in third grade. The truth, however, is that I was 9 years old in the third grade. The third grade is when I started playing basketball, and my sisters tease me, in retrospect, and tell me that my mom’s breast milk was my energy drink before the game. It wasn’t “Red Bull,” it was “Red Boob.”
Of course they exaggerated. I didn’t breast feed till I was 8 – I was really around 6. My mom, however, would’ve let me breastfeed until I was 10 if it meant that I would be healthy, happy and fed. There was no guarantee that, as a kid, we would be healthy, happy and fed on the Blackfeet reservation, and my mom was doing her very best to raise three children with no money with no man in the house and no prospects for things to get better.
When I got too big to mooch off of my mom’s actual body, she switched to powdered milk. And my sisters and I pretended that we didn’t know that it was powdered milk in the cartons. We pretended because we could see that it made my mom so happy to know her kids were happy – that they got “real milk” to go with their oatmeal or Farina. Later on, as often happens with single moms – Skin or not – my mother struggled. It’s hard not to struggle on the Blackfeet reservation – 62 percent unemployment, hard to find housing – but then again it’s difficult for single mothers everyplace. Not just on the Blackfeet reservation.
But she always tried. She always worked hard. Even during her struggles with alcohol and immaturity she made sure that we had food on the table and shoes on our feet. Sometimes, mind you, I had to wear my older SISTER’S hand-me-downs – I’d walk in the school and try to pretend that I wasn’t wearing a lavender blouse or those little tiny ankle socks with the fuzzy ball on the back. I’d try to act confident, “This is the style – what are you talking about? I saw the guy from Tears for Fears wearing it on Solid Gold. You’re just not as stylish as I am.”
I’d also pretend that the cleats that I wore to school were NOT the only pair of shoes that I owned. “I thought this week was soccer tryouts. I have four pairs of Nikes AND some British Knights.” We didn’t have soccer at my school, of course.
I’d explain away the very cheap things that my mom bought me. Not realizing that, with our horrible financial situation, she really shouldn’t have bought me anything at all. We were dead broke – poor, with the very real possibility that no more money would come in the foreseeable future. I didn’t realize that if my mom could, she would have bought me diamond-encrusted Nikes with a platinum swoosh. But she couldn’t. So I’d get mad at her for being poor – something, at the time, that was as immutable and unchangeable as her skin color and her woman-ness. I couldn’t understand why we were so poor.
I remember one time – a time that I wish that I could forget, but I can’t – we were supposed to do a gift exchange at school. Fourth grade. There was a $5 limit on the gifts that we could buy. I went home and asked my mom to buy me something for the gift exchange – she said that she couldn’t. I said that it was “only $5.” She explained that $5 was a lot of money at that time, and she suggested that maybe I could make something as a sweet substitute. It was the thought that counted. Like the powdered milk, right?
I flew off the handle. I’ve never hollered at my mom or cursed at my mom, but I may as well have. In fact, I may as well have ripped my mom’s huge heart out and trampled on it with my non-stylish cleats. I was very mean to her and told her how much I hated being poor and I wish that I was born in another family – a family that had money, a family that could afford to go places and buy STUPID little gifts during gift exchanges. I was gonna be embarrassed at school and I can’t believe we can’t even afford something as small as this.
All that was important to me was that I get my way. I didn’t realize that we couldn’t even afford the lights. But somehow the lights were on. We couldn’t afford gas to bring me to basketball practice. But somehow I got to basketball practice. We didn’t have a phone – but nobody had a phone at that time where I lived – but mom was struggling to keep food in our cupboards, and gas in our tank. But to me, it was all about my $5 toy. And it was all about not being embarrassed at school.
One of the worst moments in my life. I made my mom cry. I made her feel inadequate and lazy. On the other hand my dad was never around – and he got rewarded for not being around. He was rewarded because he didn’t have to endure any railings and rants about how I hated being poor. He was rewarded because he didn’t have to help with my awkward early teens. He didn’t have to clean up my scratches and cuts and bruises when I got beat up. Instead, when I saw him, he got to be the good guy – he would give me a few bucks, and take me to McDonalds. It instantly made up for the months and months and months that I didn’t see him – for the child support that he didn’t pay, for the attention that he never gave.
But my mom was there every day. For better or for worse, she was invested.
My suspicion is that although my mom is incredibly special to me – she’s not special. What I mean by that is that I’m sure that there are millions of moms like her – both Skins and non-Skins. One thing that I’ve learned about Skin mothers is that they will not only take a bullet for their babies, but they’ll also clean up the mess afterwards. Then they’ll make sure that no blood got on you.
I’m sure there are exceptions – there are “bad” mothers of every ethnicity. Still, I gotta say that Skin mothers are amazing. They are angels. Not in disguise. Angels.
Do any of you Skins have stories about your mothers that you’d like to share? Are Skin mothers simply the best? What do you Skins think?
By Gyasi Ross
Story Created: Jun 8, 2009
My mother is an incredible mother. She is one of those amazing Skin mothers who used to mix up our powdered milk before we woke up. She’d put the well-mixed powdered milk into an old milk carton so that we would think that it was “real milk” when we ate our Farina or oatmeal (or Cap’n Crunch on the first to the fifth of each month).
My beautiful older sisters – both sisters are mothers now themselves – say that my mom breastfed me till I was 8 years old and in third grade. The truth, however, is that I was 9 years old in the third grade. The third grade is when I started playing basketball, and my sisters tease me, in retrospect, and tell me that my mom’s breast milk was my energy drink before the game. It wasn’t “Red Bull,” it was “Red Boob.”
Of course they exaggerated. I didn’t breast feed till I was 8 – I was really around 6. My mom, however, would’ve let me breastfeed until I was 10 if it meant that I would be healthy, happy and fed. There was no guarantee that, as a kid, we would be healthy, happy and fed on the Blackfeet reservation, and my mom was doing her very best to raise three children with no money with no man in the house and no prospects for things to get better.
When I got too big to mooch off of my mom’s actual body, she switched to powdered milk. And my sisters and I pretended that we didn’t know that it was powdered milk in the cartons. We pretended because we could see that it made my mom so happy to know her kids were happy – that they got “real milk” to go with their oatmeal or Farina. Later on, as often happens with single moms – Skin or not – my mother struggled. It’s hard not to struggle on the Blackfeet reservation – 62 percent unemployment, hard to find housing – but then again it’s difficult for single mothers everyplace. Not just on the Blackfeet reservation.
But she always tried. She always worked hard. Even during her struggles with alcohol and immaturity she made sure that we had food on the table and shoes on our feet. Sometimes, mind you, I had to wear my older SISTER’S hand-me-downs – I’d walk in the school and try to pretend that I wasn’t wearing a lavender blouse or those little tiny ankle socks with the fuzzy ball on the back. I’d try to act confident, “This is the style – what are you talking about? I saw the guy from Tears for Fears wearing it on Solid Gold. You’re just not as stylish as I am.”
I’d also pretend that the cleats that I wore to school were NOT the only pair of shoes that I owned. “I thought this week was soccer tryouts. I have four pairs of Nikes AND some British Knights.” We didn’t have soccer at my school, of course.
I’d explain away the very cheap things that my mom bought me. Not realizing that, with our horrible financial situation, she really shouldn’t have bought me anything at all. We were dead broke – poor, with the very real possibility that no more money would come in the foreseeable future. I didn’t realize that if my mom could, she would have bought me diamond-encrusted Nikes with a platinum swoosh. But she couldn’t. So I’d get mad at her for being poor – something, at the time, that was as immutable and unchangeable as her skin color and her woman-ness. I couldn’t understand why we were so poor.
I remember one time – a time that I wish that I could forget, but I can’t – we were supposed to do a gift exchange at school. Fourth grade. There was a $5 limit on the gifts that we could buy. I went home and asked my mom to buy me something for the gift exchange – she said that she couldn’t. I said that it was “only $5.” She explained that $5 was a lot of money at that time, and she suggested that maybe I could make something as a sweet substitute. It was the thought that counted. Like the powdered milk, right?
I flew off the handle. I’ve never hollered at my mom or cursed at my mom, but I may as well have. In fact, I may as well have ripped my mom’s huge heart out and trampled on it with my non-stylish cleats. I was very mean to her and told her how much I hated being poor and I wish that I was born in another family – a family that had money, a family that could afford to go places and buy STUPID little gifts during gift exchanges. I was gonna be embarrassed at school and I can’t believe we can’t even afford something as small as this.
All that was important to me was that I get my way. I didn’t realize that we couldn’t even afford the lights. But somehow the lights were on. We couldn’t afford gas to bring me to basketball practice. But somehow I got to basketball practice. We didn’t have a phone – but nobody had a phone at that time where I lived – but mom was struggling to keep food in our cupboards, and gas in our tank. But to me, it was all about my $5 toy. And it was all about not being embarrassed at school.
One of the worst moments in my life. I made my mom cry. I made her feel inadequate and lazy. On the other hand my dad was never around – and he got rewarded for not being around. He was rewarded because he didn’t have to endure any railings and rants about how I hated being poor. He was rewarded because he didn’t have to help with my awkward early teens. He didn’t have to clean up my scratches and cuts and bruises when I got beat up. Instead, when I saw him, he got to be the good guy – he would give me a few bucks, and take me to McDonalds. It instantly made up for the months and months and months that I didn’t see him – for the child support that he didn’t pay, for the attention that he never gave.
But my mom was there every day. For better or for worse, she was invested.
My suspicion is that although my mom is incredibly special to me – she’s not special. What I mean by that is that I’m sure that there are millions of moms like her – both Skins and non-Skins. One thing that I’ve learned about Skin mothers is that they will not only take a bullet for their babies, but they’ll also clean up the mess afterwards. Then they’ll make sure that no blood got on you.
I’m sure there are exceptions – there are “bad” mothers of every ethnicity. Still, I gotta say that Skin mothers are amazing. They are angels. Not in disguise. Angels.
Do any of you Skins have stories about your mothers that you’d like to share? Are Skin mothers simply the best? What do you Skins think?
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