Aboriginal - Girls Action Foundation

By Katie Jo Rabbit
It all started when I was three years old, it was 1983 we lived in a two bedroom town
house, and we didn’t have a television, or the cable was cut off. At the time I didn’t
think anything of it, because my mum and grandma protected me from the hardships
of reality that we faced. Sometimes now, when I think back, we were quite poor, but
because of these women in my life, I was able to see past the materialism and enjoy my
childhood.
My mom, who is affectionately known by her Blackfoot name; “Innitsii” introduced me to the
Pee Wee Herman word game, “word of the day”. She would give me a word, and if I used it
properly in a sentence we would scream. To test her I would use the words only in public. Because
my mother was never too shy to scream while at the grocery store, I began my love of words.
When we moved back to the reserve my grandma would also influence my love of
stories, words and all things creative. She would tell me all about the days of our lives,
and would sew while I read aloud from the National Inquirer. When I would ask her if
the stories in it were true, she would look up from her antique push foot-pedal sewing
machine with a reply “What do you think?”
I can still see her sitting there, in the dining room, can picture her smile, like a crack
in the soft folds of her aged skin. Her face like the bark of a tree, beaming whenever I
would play the cello, or recite a poem, lending me her costume jewellery and reminding
me ladies only ever chewed half a piece of Freedent gum to be polite. She was the only
woman I knew who could fry an egg in the time it took the bus to drive down the road;
the only woman I knew who could make life buoy soap smell good.
At the time I didn’t realize how strong and important these women were in my life, it never
occurred to me that having my mother drop me off alone at basketball camps would instill in
me a sense of independence. That her refusal to buy me brand name clothes would give me
the motivation to get a job at the age of 14. I also thought reading from the National Inquirer
was a waste of time, because we all knew bat boy was really from Mexico and not living in a
cave in Kansas, but it would help me become a critical thinker.
Katie Jo Rabbit
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