Stories are powerful. The freedom to be who we are, to share our cultures, to tell tales to new generation, is necessary. When my uncle was murdered so were his stories. How many stories will we murder? Either at our own hands or by standing by and allowing it. I hope: No more.

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My adopted uncle was murdered before he could teach me much about his culture. So now he's dead and I don't know, didn't learn. That's how it happens. #Indigenous

Thinking of my Uncle Henry a lot lately.

My mom was his biggest champion, inviting him to live with us when he'd been kicked out of everywhere, fighting with everyone to see him, to love him, and to listen to him. My uncle was understandably lost, alone, conflicted, afraid to be himself and afraid not to be himself. My sister and I loved it when he sat on our living room floor to make bannock but we weren't ever entirely comfortable around him. Too many people looked at him wrong. Plus, my mom loved him fiercely because she had to. She couldn't just relax and love him because loving my Native American uncle meant fighting for him. So we loved him too, but with a feeling of responsibility we didn't understand.

I felt conflicted. As a niece who was interested in her mysterious uncle, I wanted her to keep him alive and to tell me more. But as a selfish little girl, I wanted her to stop fighting for him now, to let him go, to just watch me and my sister sing and play.

Mom didn't spend much time on what was wanted and instead focussed on what had to be done. She fought on. She gathered more people to care for; diversity of culture and abilities surrounded us. My siblings are from all kinds of cultural backgrounds (Native American, Irish, Japanese) and neurodiversity was the name of our game (autism, Tourette's, genius, retardation) while layers of abuse were all of ours to help peel away.

My sister and I learned how to love fiercely, too.

And we also learned how to love comfortably.

I think we're always evolving with this issue and I think we do it well. Love, listen, learn, connect, support, teach, ask, tell. Don't fight so much as be and show and love. But don't back down or run away either. Clashes will happen. Loving people who are abused by groups of people means stepping up and standing strong. It means, sometimes, fighting for them.

My adopted uncle was murdered before he could teach me much about his culture. So now he's dead and I don't know. But I can try to learn.

And I do.
I love you, mom.
I love you, Uncle Henry.
I love you, messy messed up world.
I love you.

Authors Website: http://www.tsarashelton.com/

Authors Bio:

As the mother of four wonderful teenage boys Tsara spends a lot of time figuring out who she is so she can teach her sons to do the same. She also hears herself holler, "Stop Eating!" an awful lot! As her boys get older, she gets louder while sharing her beliefs and ideas. Again, as a way to comfortably ask them to do the same. Being the sister, daughter and mom of autism, much of what she has to say comes from what the challenges of living surrounded by so much difference taught her. Though her posts are rarely specifically about autism or parenting, they are always stories grown from the fertile and organic thinking soil that can be found where the two come together. Tsara is the author of the new book Spinning In Circles And Learning From Myself: A Collection of Stories that Slowly Grow Up.

Tsara Shelton is also a volunteer photo editor here on OEN.
She had the honor of being interviewed on the Envision This! podcast, hosted by Burl Hall (a contributor to OEN) and his wife, Merry. Follow this link to listen: http://www.blogtalkradio.com/envision-this/2015/07/08/tsara-shelton--the-trials-and-triumphs-of-a-life-lived-on-the-edge-of-society