Spotted Hawk still proudly hangs onto his Dine heritage

ine>"Pushed forward, but not broken. Its roots hold it down; like the Native Americans it has been pushed unwillingly; but wait, see how it still lives strong. All these years its spirit has remained strong and each day it livesÉit grows; the spirit grows and though it has gone through centuries of hardships, it still has ties to its home." --The leaning tree.

I wrote that when I was 15 years old. I sat within the gated world of my high school and found one lonely tree that brought back the frustrations of the "New World." My grandfather's life is a story of pure adventurous peril in the early stages of today's modern world. Born in October 1942, he was pronounced dead upon birth. By nothing short of a miraculous occurrence, his small body resuscitated itself; and thus he began his incredible journey.

Without a word of English or even a granule of the "white man's way," my grandfather, David Jackson, grew into a productive and well-accomplished man. As a young child, his grandparents accepted the responsibility of raising him after the realization of the problems between his parents. Soon after, they went away to the railroad for work, and he was left in the care of his great-grandparents. None-the-less he was a happy child. He was raised traditionally and came to love everything about horses. He tended to the sheep and the cattle, watching the clouds roll on by as they grazed.

In his great utopia, the world was serene with the blessings of the great spirits and the sacred mountains. He would have lived in great peace with mother earth had it not been for his grandparents plea. Before leaving, his grandmother told his great-grandparents it would be a good idea to send him away to school. Sitting in his great-grandparents hogan, he listened carefully as they did their best to persuade him to go learn the "white man's way." He opposed them a number of times, until one day when he decided to do as they wished.

Entering the boarding school in Shiprock, N.M., he was stripped of his red headband, shaved bald, and issued a blue suit like the rest of the students.

"It was like prison," he said. "We all looked the same, and we weren't supposed to speak our native tongue. But, one night I got restless and decided I was going to return to my home."

Crawling out the back window of the boy's dormitory lavatory, he sprinted across the desert sands. By the light of the moon and by the map in the heavens, he guided himself to the San Juan River. Swimming with the fierce determination to be free, he pulled himself forth into the wild liberty of nature. Running in the night, by daybreak he was atop the rocks that overlooked his great-grandparents' hogan.

Running away from the boarding school was a sporadic occurrence, until he realized he could get away with it. Then it was every other week he would run away. He was gone so often, that he spent two years in first grade and three years in second grade, because he wasn't progressing. So his great-grandfather sat him on the gully ledge and they spoke together in Navajo. Deep in the horizon was a small yellow bus making its way to take my grandfather back to boarding school.

"I saw it coming, and I sensed it in the air. I remember my great-grandfather and I sat on that ledge and he said to me, 'Grandson, you need to go to school. You need to learn so you will have a place in this world. Things are going to change and what we do here is not going to be enough. You need to know the white man's language. You need to know the white man's ways. I have foreseen the great changes to come. And education is the way for you. So, grandson, promise me you won't do this again. Promise me you'll go to school. Promise me you will stay there and learn these things. You have my blessings.' We sang one more song, and then I climbed aboard that little bus and went to make my great-grandfather proud."

In fear of his safety, the school officials called upon his grandparents who were still away working on the railroad. He had run away one too many times and so he was taken out of the boarding school in Shiprock. He grew up in towns along the railroad. His horizons broadened by travel, he finally returned to the Shiprock area by the time he reached junior high. Finishing up his schooling at Kirtland Central High, he got an opportunity three months later to further his education in Albuquerque, NM.

Now attending a trade school, he took many classes, including business law and accounting. It is here where he met an intelligent, vivacious young woman named Delores Martinez. He hung his head low, and in a broken voice, uttered, "We hung out for a year, and then we got married." (My beloved grandmother, his wife, died in October 1998)

After they had both graduated and had their first son, my grandfather started his employment with the Navajo Nation. He worked in accounting for a few years before growing restless and broadening his horizons, yet again, by joining up with a friend who was an electrician; and as he is known to do, he grew restless and learned a new trade from another friend who was a plumber.

No job ever seemed to fill my grandfather's need of adventure that had lay dormant for the many years he was in school. Finally, he got his break and was able to make his mark. He became the Navajo Nation fair Manager.

In charge of organizing and scheduling all the events, he brought a new flavor to the annual fair. He set up the first night rodeo, introduced the bandstand, repaired the entire fair grounds, brought in car races, set up horse racing, and in general brought more entertainment to the Navajo Nation Fair than ever before. The previous managers were not into country-western, so he brought in acts such as Waylon Jennings, Loretta Lynn, Don Williams, Tammy Wynette and George Jones, and, of course, there were others like Fats Domino and Little Richard.

When he couldn't sit still he traveled to other events like powwows, rodeos, Alaskan Fairs, and once to Europe to see the French Frontier Days. This was how he got the ideas to open the fair up a little more.

Currently, my grandfather does carpenter work in Shiprock, working on houses for veterans and the elderly. He paints, draws and is back to raising horses.

Throughout his exhaustingly audacious life, my grandfather still hangs onto what he can of his heritage, proudly recounting one of the last things his great-grandfather had said to him, "He said 'I'll always be able to find you, because do you see that hawk there in the distance? He follows you, so when I see him, I know you are near. Your name is Spotted Hawk.'"

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