One day, I come to the realization that I have to start talking to people. It's scary at first and I listen to others so I will know how to interact. Heart in my throat, I do start to talk and people not only listen, but they encourage me. They tell me to hang in there. One day, a wonderful woman, Paula (one of my bosses), suggests to me that I should consider working with my own people. She says I should be proud of who I am, where I came from and what I did. That's easy for you to say, I think. She befriends me and treats me special. I like this. She has many tales of how wonderful Native culture is and how I should find out more about it. One summer day, I phone a Native organization and ask if they are looking for more staff. They are. They ask me for my résumé. I've never made one in my life! Paula gives me an outline and shows me hers. After two days of putting it off because I feel I can't do it, I sit down and manage to come up with one. Next step is the interview. I almost chicken out. I actually leave the place, then, trembling, I go back. Two people ask me some questions, then say they'll let me know in a couple of days. I'm on tenderhooks! They ask me to come back and right there they offer me the job. I'm at once exhilarated, and petrified! I accept and it turns out to be the best decision of my life. I meet so many others who have gone through the same thing I have. I tell them how it was for me, how I had to start talking to others, how I turned my fear into determination. I feel great because I finally fit in. Together my newfound friends and I learn about our culture. It starts to click in why we did things a certain way at home. Why wasn't somebody telling us about cultural difference? Instead, we felt like square pegs that somebody was trying to fit into a round hole. When it didn't work, we somehow thought we were in the wrong. The feeling is consternation, because it a seems that those people making our decisions for us didn't really know what the long-term effects would be on how we felt about ourselves.

One day I get phone call. Would I like to coordinate a literacy program for Native Women? I say that I will give it a try. I find out as much as I can about it. I learn phrases like "community-based" and "learner-centered." Apparently, there is no pre-set curriculum. It is geared to the learners' needs and interests. Not only that, there are specific Native programs. I meet other Native coordinators and we all want culturally-relevant curriculum. We are going to build learning partnerships where mutual respect is the foundation. In a learning partnership, both learner and tutor come with their respective strengths that they will share with each other. The learners that I see coming into the program wear the same "scared rabbit" look that I had when I decided to go back to night-school. I spend a lot of time talking to them. I ask them, "what kinds of things do you like to do?" and, "what would you like to learn?" I assure them, "You just didn't have a proper chance. Now is the time for you. You can do it. I felt like that, too, and this is how I handled it." Over and over again. I see that fear slowly dissipate. The tutors, learners and I all work closely together. We talk about things like the causes of illiteracy (it's not our fault), cultural awareness (we're not inferior, just different) and how we can help each other (one of my learners has invited me to Sweat Lodge Ceremonies, Healing Circles and has given me a traditional cure for my backaches. In return, I have shared the basics of sentences and paragraphs). The feeling is hope because we decide how we want our programs to be. It isn't someone else making decisions about our lives for us.

Now I work for the Ministry of Skills Development. My job is to offer consultative support to twenty-seven Native literacy programs. It's energizing because all the Native coordinators and I share our concerns and aspirations with each other. Over half of Native families are headed by single parents, usually the mother. We want to reach those parents and help them break the cycle of dependency often associated with illiteracy and social assistance. Some programs attempting to work with both the parent and the children. After all, illiterate adults start out as illiterate children, and parents are often the role models for their offspring. I understand that programs involving families are referred to as intergenerational or family literacy. Several programs operate on reserves. In these cases, the coordinator is almost always required to be bilingual. Bilingual in the Native community refers to being fluent in the mother tongue (usually Ojibway or Cree in Ontario) and English as well. The reserve programs involve Elders. In Native Society, Elders are revered for their wisdom and experience. It is their role to pass on teachings to others. These women and men encourage us to incorporate wisdom, love, respect, bravery, honesty, humility and truth into whatever we do. Often they speak at a community getting to share these teachings and/or less from the past. Lately, I've heard this type of thing called Oral History. Oral history written down becomes culturally relevant reading material.

Many urban programs also ask Elders to be a part of their literacy advisory committees. We feel this is so important as we want to reinforce our culture. Our tutor training sessions cover cross-cultural communication because it will not only teach those Natives who weren't told the differences and bought into the idea of feeling like misfits, but it will also sensitize the non-Natives who are involved in our programs. We get a lot of support from the Native and the non-Native community. So many have willingly shared their time and expertise. The feeling is happiness because we are all pulling together.