My mother and her masks: Alcohol, trauma, and strength.
My mother and her masks: Alcohol, trauma, and strength.
复制标题
我的母亲和她的面具:酒精、创伤和力量。
DOI:
10.1016/j.josat.2023.209239
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发表时间:
2024
期刊:
影响因子:
--
通讯作者:
Crouch,MariaC
中科院分区:
文献类型:
--
作者:
Crouch,MariaC
My mother was beautiful. Once, I remember driving down the Glenn Highway from Wasilla to Anchorage, Alaska, and a man nearly ran us off the road. He was making eyes at my mother so fiercely that his wheel, just like his intensions, veered towards us trying desperately to collide with her in any way possible. In hindsight, I too lived just outside of reaching my mother, earnestly yearning for her to turn and see me.She was a light skinned Alaska Native woman,“Indian” she would say to represent her Deg Hit’an (Athabascan) heritage. Her frame was petite and hovered around 100 lbs. for most of her life, but her spirit was strong, expansive, and torrential. Both for negative and positive. In our culture, we wear masks in dance and song and ceremony. We wear masks as invocation and in incarnation of the spiritual realms. Sometimes she was masked as red Fox (Choghlugguy). Then she was in her beauty, independence, interdependence, and playfulness. This is who she truly was. However, mostly she was masked as dangerous brown Bear (Gegha vixinijit). Then she would spiritually kill herself and me by chomping bites from our bodies and chewing fully before going back for more. Alcohol would run through her like the blood that could not come from the wounds we carried. I wished for injuries of the physical kind because with those I at least knew the pain could subside.