The Following are a couple of short Teaching Stories

THE SILVER EAGLE

She peered at the trays before her, laden with silver and turquoise jewelry. Good, it was
still there. She had been looking at the necklace with the silver eagle for the last three
pow wows, and there it lay, untouched in its place on the black velvet of the box.
She scurried off to once again pull her mother over to admire the necklace with her.
She had wanted this necklace so badly. It was as though the eagle was looking at
her. She stood with her mother admiring the piece and once again saw her mother look
at the price tag and sadly shake her head.
"Little Turtle, this is just more than we can afford. I wish is was not so. I wish i could get
you a necklace with a huge silver eagle, but i just cannot."
Little Turtle bowed her head for only a moment, "It's all right, Momma. someday I will
have that necklace. I must earn the money. " Her mother smiled down at her, and then
stooped to hug her, "I love you, Little Turtle."
Little Turtle went straight to the wooded area that edged the pow wow grounds.
She was sad, but she new that her mother had spoke the truth. She sat under a large
tree, thinking of ways that would help her earn money during the summer months.
When at last she arose from where she had sat, a shrill cry caused her to lift her eyes
upward. There she caught sight of a magnificent eagle, circling the area. Again he cried out,
and as she watched in amazement, one of his feathers slowly drifted downward to
land at her feet. Slowly, reverently, she stooped to retrieve it, then once again lifted her
face to give thanks to the eagle for his gift.
She bounded back toward the pow wow, anxious to tell her mother her story and to show
her new eagle feather. She must talk to the old mad called Uncle to ask what she should
do with it. She wanted to wear it - always.
She caught sight of her mother dancing in the sacred ring and made her way to the edge to watch her.
Even though she new her mother to be quiet old (she must be 40), she moved
elegantly about he ring, her fringes swaying, and her steps slow and sure. Someday she,
Little Turtle, would dance like that, and maybe wear her eagle feather.
A wheelchair rolled up next to her, and the young man sitting in it nodded and
smiled at her. Then he watched the dancers with fascination. "Have you ever seen the
dances before?" she asked timidly. "Oh, yes, I danced," and then his smile faltered,
"well, I used to anyway, before this stupid accident." He started to wheel away, but she
stopped him. "Please don't go. You will make me think I made you sad, and I don't want to
do that. He finally returned her smile, and they began talking. She found out that he had
been a fancy dancer and had won many championships. An Accident involving a drunken
driver had cut his career short and, indeed, had placed him in a chair for life.
Little Turtle listened to him, and then she told him the story about the eagle who had just
gifted her with a feather. She held the feather out for him to see. "You know, I think that
I have been given this feather to see that the proper person has it," she said, and she
placed the feather in his hand. "I think that person must be you. You can't walk, but with
this feather, you can fly."  With these words, she turned and raced toward her family's
lodge before she had second thoughts.
"Oh!" She had run into something solid. She looked up at the large Indian mad she had just pummeled,
"I'm sorry." The man nodded, then he smiled and stretched out his hand.
He led Little Turtle to the side. "I am Big Hand. I am that boys father," he told her. "I have
watched you many times come to look at my eagle necklace."
Little Turtle looked at him closer and realized that this was the silversmith who had made
the necklace she had admired, and she nodded. He reached toward her, and suddenly a
silver eagle necklace hung around her neck, it's warmth against her skin.
"I could never repay you for what you have just done, nor can I replace your eagle feather,
but with this necklace, you will carry a part of me with you, always."
He stooped and hugged her and Little Turtle thought she had seen a tear, but he was
gone as quickly as he had come. Little Turtle slowly made her way back to her lodge.
What a story she had to tell her mother.

THE LOVE FLUTE

He stood there remembering the last pow wow his mother had taken him to see.
He had been very young, but he could still remember it clearly.  He remembered the
dancers in the ring.  The men had seemed so tall.  Some had worn so many feathers,
some had their faces painted...and they all frightened him.  He remembered the women,
dancing slowly with fringes swaying.  But most of all, he remembered his mother crying
as she danced.  He could not understand this, and his confusion made him refuse to go
with her again.
Now he stood before his mother as she lay in a hospital bed.  She looked so frail
and he knew that she was seriously ill.
"Please, Joel, go just this once.  Go for me."
Looking at the pale face of his mother, he reluctantly agreed to go with his uncle.  Now here
he was, watching the dancers pass by.  He had to admit that the men no  longer seemed as
tall.  He watched them and saw that some danced upright and proud while others acted out
movements long forgotten in the passage ot time.  The men that really caught his eye,
however, were the ones wearing the feathered bustles and head pieces.  They moved about
the arena in such bursts of energy.  He stood there for some time, listening to the beat of the
drum and the chant of the singers.  He could actually feel the drum pulsing through him.  He
turned away from all of these emotions he could not understand, and visited the colorful
booths about the arena. where Native American handcrafts were displayed.
There were the Seminole with their beautiful clothing.  The Navajo displayed their  beautiful silver and
turquoise jewelry.  There were artists who painted designs of Native American scenes on
canvas, wood, leather and even feathers.  There were pelts, leather goods, bead work,
clothes, and at one booth he discovered some wooden flutes.
He stopped to pick up one of them.  This one had been decorated with fur, beads and feathers.
"That's called a flagallete, young man, or you may have heard it called a love flute," a voice cut
through his reverie.
He hurriedly laid the instrument down, prepared to run, but the owner of the voice stepped
forward.  He was an elder Native American, and he gently picked up the flute and placed it to
his lips.  A low melody reached out to the young boy and seemed to tear at his heart.  Before
he could turn away, the old man set the flute aside and looked directly into his eyes, "Why are
you so afraid, young man?  It is only the call of your ancestors you hear.  it belongs to you, listen
to it."  As Joel stared at the old man, he continued "Who are your parents, boy?"
"My-my mother is called Morning Starr," he stammered his reply.
"Morning Starr?  Where is she?"
Joel sadly shook his head, "She is very ill and asked me to come in her place."
The old man leaned back "So that's why you've come?" and Joel nodded.  "I haven't seen you
since you were very small."
"No, I wouldn't come.  I don't understand this place.  It makes my Mamma cry, and I don't know why."
The old man smiled down at him, "Boy, haven't you learned?  There are tears and there are tears.
The tears your mom shed were because the Creator was touching her heart,
not because she was sad.  Go!  Watch for awhile - we will talk again."Joel knew that he had been dismissed.
He was astonished by the whole conversation and maybe a little bit in awe of this old man who seemed to know his heart.
He was unable to find his uncle, so he once again watched the dancers.  Suddenly he found himself at the very edge of the circle.
He had no idea how he had found his way this close to the dancing, he just could
not understand this place, but when he turned to leave, he found the old man standing behind him.
Again, the old man looked directly  at him and after a few moments said, "You must dance.  You must dance for your mother.
Take my fan, it will carry your prayers."
He placed his personal fan of feathers into Joel's hand.  Joel knew the feathers to be from a
red tailed hawk.  The handle had been beautifully beaded.
The old man introduced the young boy standing by his side, "This is my grandson, Little Hawk,
he will go with you into the arena.  Follow his lead and talk to the Creator about your mother."
Joel obeyed hesitantly, entering the ring with Little Hawk through an opening on the EAst side.
They moved in behind a small group of dancers that had just passed.  Once in the sacred circle,
however, Joel lost track of Little Hawk.  He lost track of everything but the beat of the drum and
the sound of the singers.  Suddenly he seemed alone in the circle, and he danced for his mother
before the Creator.  When the drum stopped, he was surprised to find tears streaming down hischeeks.
He continued around the arena until he could exit from the same place he had entered and hurried to find the old man.
"Th-Thanks for the use of your fan," he stammered, handing him the wonderful fan and keeping
his face turned so  his tears would not be seen.
"Just a minute, young man," and Joel froze, not turning around.  "You have found many answers
here tonight.  You have found there are tears and there are tears.  There is no shame here.  I
want you to know your place is where your people are and there are people here who care,"
and he handed Joel the beautiful wooden flute.
Again Joel murmured his thanks, but the man was gone.  He turned and hurried to find his uncle.
He wanted to share this night with his mother.  He already knew she would be well enough to listen.
 

  THIS PAGE LAST UPDATED NOVEMBER 26th, 2000