Lakeview Indian Day School

Real fast, I turn around in my desk to look at my cousin. He says something in our Odawa and Ojibwe language. This is a mistake. The teacher, Miss McNulty, walks with a limp. She uses a cane. We all jump when she hits a desk with it. I'm sure the cane would cry if it had feelings. She doesn't need her cane this time. She stands in front of me waving a new yardstick. Another yardstick.

How many did she break so far, on someone or on the blackboard? Crack! Across my knuckles. It happens fast. I half cry out. I try to hold it in. A big lump rises from inside, pauses at my throat, stops briefly at my nose. My eyes hurt. Tears roll down my face. My nose drips.

"Mary Louise, you must never speak that whatever language again! Never! Never! It is not a proper language. You must forget it totally! Speak English only. Hear me?" She shakes me by the shoulders. "Yes ma'am."

She glares at me. "Repeat after me. I will not speak Indian ever again."

I chokingly speak every word after her because I am scared she will hit me with her yardstick. But my habit is to speak Anishinabe and English together. I don't understand why speaking Anishinabe is wrong. Miss McNulty makes my mother language sound evil and ugly.

Catechism begins another day at this Indian Day School. Miss McNulty asks, "Who made you, Jane?"

Jane looks around and says, "God made me."

"Dick, where is God?"

Dick answers fast. "God is everywhere." I look at Dick in wonder. He is smart.

"Mary Louise, say The Hail Mary in front of the class." I get up in front of the classroom trying to keep my eyes straight ahead. I'm ready to die. Miss McNulty will kill me if I forget a word or a line of this English prayer. She tells me to fold my hands.