BLOG: Lakota class

Instead of telling you about all the things this week that made me upset, angry, sad and anxious, I thought I’d share the story of something really good. It happened in my Lakota class.

This is my second semester taking a Lakota language class, and there are a few different reasons that a 50 minute class four days a week has become a highlight of my college life. One of them is the incredibly unique opportunity to learn a language that, sadly, so few people know. In fact, the chance to learn Lakota as a part of my non-English language requirement was one of the big reasons I came to the University of South Dakota in the first place. How many other places can offer this? I enjoy the language; it’s challenging but fascinating and I come to class every day excited to learn more. The professor is remarkably knowledgeable and engaging.

Yet, something even better has eclipsed all of these reasons as to why this class has become so special to me, and I think I can illustrate it best with a story.

Our class is small, but no two of us are the same. There are nineteen and twenty-year-old kids like me, and there are parents and grandparents. We come from all different races and backgrounds. Some of us are athletes, some of us are bookish, some of us are shy and others have a bit of a reputation for making jokes, but somehow over the last two semesters we’ve come to know each other in a way that makes the class feel less like a class and more like an hour with good friends. Some of us have even made a habit of staying after to chat with the professor and ask about each other’s lives.

One day this week, I was staying after our lesson to help a classmate with something and happened to watch an event unfold that I’ll never forget. Two other members of my class were sitting behind me and chatting: a university basketball player and a retired army lieutenant colonel. The basketball player, in a casual and friendly way, said, “Let’s talk about that backpack of yours. I’ve been eyeing that for a while! Where would I get one of those?” Indeed, it was a great backpack the colonel had: camouflage, heavy duty zipper compartments, all sorts of straps and “USA” embroidered in thick letters on the front pocket. They talked lightly about it for a while, about how the young man admired it and how his dad would envy it since he’d wanted to join the Marines. And I happened to notice that as they were chatting, the colonel had started taking his books and pens out of the pack.

“Oh, you don’t need to take your stuff out, I’m just curious,” the basketball player said. Then the colonel slid the empty backpack across the table.

“Here,” he said, “I want you to have it.”

I’m sure my face mirrored the basketball player’s. He was shocked and a bit embarrassed as he hurriedly said, “Oh no, I can’t!”  When the colonel wouldn’t take no for an answer, he offered him everything from money to his own backpack as a trade.

“No way,” the colonel said. “This is the Lakota way of giving! Giving beyond what’s expected. Now, when people ask you who that scary looking guy on campus is, you can say, ‘That’s my army buddy, he gave me this backpack!’”

He then put the backpack on his new friend and pointed out all the compartments and straps, while another woman from our class doted and said, “Ah, thakoza! Look at you!” Thakoza: the Lakota word for grandchild.

I think it was during that moment that I realized what was so special about my Lakota class. We’d gone beyond being a group of strangers in a classroom and become something special. These people I care about also care about me and each other. They asked after me when I was sick and missed class, they joke with each other and help each other.

It’s hokey and stupid and you’re falling asleep, I know, I’m almost done, but I think this is important. I’m the one with the blog and I’ll try to be funny next week.

I think after a week with plenty of stress and homesickness, it did me a lot of good to know that I’m part of such a wonderful group of people with a common interest in a language so few people get to learn. It was nice too to feel that while my blood family is far away, I have a small new sort of family — a thiospaye — that I get to see almost every day, and who never fail to make me smile and think that maybe things here aren’t so bad.