Ten Little Indians

The drums start pounding in the distance.  The rhythm begins building as the chief raises his arms to the sky.  The warrior-dancers stride boldly in, their warpaint fierce, their faces determined; this is their moment.  Concentration fills their faces as the wailing music starts and they began to dance around, mimicking the elements of fire, water, earth and air.  They dance with abandon to celebrate the joy of a harvest, to give thanks for the food they will eat.  Flashes of light strobe across the scene and voices began to call.

“Look this way, honey.” 

“You’re doing great.”

“Keep dancing, buddy, follow the teacher.”

We parents watched our little preschoolers perform for the school’s Thanksgiving feast.  Our ten little Indians were dancing around a fire made of construction paper and cardboard tubes with a tipi made of window blind pieces standing in the background. Paper headbands held pink and yellow feathers and tinkling bells were tied around their ankles.

It was probably as politically incorrect as you can get now days and someone, somewhere is probably offended.  Of course, that someone, somewhere is always offended about something.  Yes, we know the Native Americans of the East Coast tribes who encountered the pilgrims didn’t live in tipis.  Yes, the second song was sung in Spanish, not the language of the Wampanoag.  Yes, the pilgrims arguably brought a new culture that brought change to another culture. 

But, the kid’s celebration of Thanksgiving was enthusiastic and warmed everyone’s heart. As far as political correctness goes, they were pretty diverse.  We had White Indians, Black Indians, Hispanic Indians and even an Asian Indian Indian bridging two very different cultures who share a name.  Her big brown eyes would melt anyone’s heart, so I’m pretty sure it made everything OK.

Sometimes an Indian is really an Indian and sometimes, she’s from India.  Sometimes a tipi is a home for plains dwelling Native Americans, and sometimes it is a butcher paper and window blind structure for ambience.  Sometimes a drama is for teaching history, and sometimes it is just performing for parents.

Here’s to all those who fuss and bother about titles and proper names for things, for those who insist on the correct version of history and those who are so tolerant that they are intolerant of anyone who doesn’t agree with them. Relax. 

Let’s put aside politics for awhile and just enjoy watching the kids.  They don’t care about any of that anyway, they just want to dance for their parents.

Happy Holidays.