Little Miami Brewing Native American Scholarship Award

My first lived experience as a Native American was absence. It lived in my bones before I had any words for it, a generational grief passed down from a culture that was stripped from my family and a people I was separated from long before I was born. I am Yakama and La Jolla Luiseno, a quarter Native by blood, but for most of my life I carried the wound of that heritage without the roots that were supposed to come with it. That is its own kind of Native experience, and it is one this country rarely talks about. To be a Native man off the reservation in modern America is to live in the aftermath of an extinction-level severing, cut off from your culture, your ceremonies, and your people, and left to carry the grief of that loss without knowing where it comes from. For years that disconnection shaped me in ways I did not understand. I numbed pain I could not name. I ran from a fear that had roots much deeper than my own life. It was not until I was thirty, when I entered the Northwest Indian Treatment Center, that I finally began to understand what had been taken from me and how to start getting it back. That place changed my life. It was there that I learned about my people and my culture for the first time. It was there that I sat in my first sweat, and there that I was accepted by my people as Native, as one of them, a quarter and all. For someone who had spent a lifetime feeling like not enough of anything to belong anywhere, that acceptance was a kind of homecoming I did not know I was allowed to have. I learned to bead, slowly and with intention, each stitch a prayer. I learned that this was medicine, real medicine, the kind that heals the spirit and not just the body, and that my ancestors had always understood healing this way. That understanding is now the center of who I am becoming. I am working toward a bachelor’s in biological science and, after that, physician assistant school, because I want to carry that idea of good medicine into modern healthcare. My culture taught me that medicine treats the whole person, body, spirit, and community together, and that is exactly the kind of provider I intend to be. I do not want to treat symptoms on a chart. I want to treat human beings the way my people have always known how. And I know exactly where I want to take it. I plan to move to my reservation at La Jolla, to reconnect with my tribe and offer my service as a healthcare provider to my own community. Native people face some of the worst health outcomes in this country, in part because so few providers understand them or come from them. I want to be one who does. I want to bring real, culturally grounded care home to my people, and to help close the same gap that left my own family disconnected and unwell for generations. My heritage shaped my life first through its absence and then through its recovery. It gave me grief, and then it gave me healing, and now it has given me a purpose. I am no longer a Native man cut off from his roots. I am a Native man growing back toward them, and I intend to spend the rest of my life being good medicine for the people I come from.

Growing up on the reservation in northern New Mexico, I was surrounded by the beauty of my culture but also the challenges that often come with life on the rez. One of the earliest lessons my mom taught me was the importance of choices. As a young child, she would take me to visit family members whose lives had been deeply affected by alcohol. She wanted me to see firsthand how drinking could impact families and our community, not to shame them, but to open my eyes. Those visits left a lasting impression on me. They made me understand how cycles of struggle can hold our people back, and they gave me the determination to build a life where I could honor my culture without being pulled into the same destructive patterns. Until eighth grade, I went to school on the reservation. Education there was familiar and comfortable, but I always wanted more for myself. My mom encouraged me to push myself, so I transferred to a school in Colorado, about an hour away from my home, where I believed I could get a better education. While I was excited for the opportunity, it came with challenges I didn’t expect. For the first time, I experienced what it felt like to be treated differently because of who I was. Some teachers seemed to dismiss Native students, assuming we were “dumb” or unmotivated, stereotypes that many of my peers had been unfairly labeled with. It was frustrating and disheartening, but instead of letting it discourage me, I used it as motivation. I wanted to prove those stereotypes wrong- not just for myself, but for every Native kid who has ever been underestimated. I worked hard in school, took pride in my studies, and made it my mission to represent my people in the best way I could. I wanted others to see that Native students are capable, intelligent, and driven, even when the odds feel stacked against us. Through it all, my heritage has been my anchor. My culture has taught me resilience, humility, and pride. Some of my favorite moments every year are the cultural gatherings where our community comes together to dance, share meals, and honor our traditions. These events remind me why I work so hard because the generations before me fought to keep our traditions alive, and it is my responsibility to carry that forward while also pursuing opportunities they may not have had. This scholarship would not only help me continue my education, but it would also allow me to give back to my community. My goal is to build a future where I can show Native youth that our culture and higher education can thrive together. I want to help break cycles, defy stereotypes, and inspire the next generation to chase their dreams, no matter how far those dreams take them. My heritage has shaped me into someone who is strong, driven, and proud, and I want to use that strength to make a difference.

For most of my life, I was confused. Not because I was a child or didn't have any life experiences, but because I never looked like any of my family or friends. My mom is white and my dad was African American and Native American, but I never looked more like one or the other. I remember asking my mom one time if I was adopted, because for a while I thought I was only white. As I got older and gained more knowledge and life experiences, it had dawned on me that I was what was considered "biracial" or "mixed". I suddenly felt as if I didn't fit in anywhere. My dad would try his best to give me experiences on our culture and insights to our past, but I never could grasp it because my mom lived as a white woman. This confusion followed me through school and friendships and even job applications. When the question would ask "What is your race/ethnicity?" I would stare at the boxes and question which one I should even check. Which one seemingly trumped the other? I was white-passing, but that was only in the winter and when I would straighten my hair. On the other hand, in the summer when my curls were loose and my skin was darker, people wouldn't question "what" I am. Another question I got a lot. "What are you?" as if I was some unknown species to them. I would simply reply the question as poised as i could because then i would be seen as overreacting. My father got three animal tattoos when i was around 14. He said that our family's tribe (forgive me for not remembering) would design personal totems for each individual as to what resonated with them and what the animals stood for in the culture. He had a beetle, an owl and a bear. The bear made me laugh because that was the one thing I distinctly remember him being afraid of when I was a kid was bears. However, he told me that it represented a dual meaning for him, yes he was afraid of them, but they represented courage and good health and he believed expanding on that fear would guide him in life. I learned from my father all I could. Our origins and beliefs. Our family supposedly originated from Oklahoma and were a mix of slaves and shut out indigenous people which i found to be fascinating. i don't sit and dwell on what box to check or where I fit in anymore. I also don't allow it to hinder my experiences in life or my success. I let it represent who I am and where I came from and how I came to be as a woman of color.

Roots of Heritage The barriers of majestic hemlock trees shadow my trail as I guide myself up the incredible halls of the rocky formation of Hocking Hills. This fern-covered mature forest opens my eyes to a whole new world of diversity. The smell of sweet pine mixed with lemon and orange peel fills my senses; I'm glorified by my surroundings. As I'm bathed in the forest air, I begin to walk closer to my Native American heritage. Like the roots of trees, I'm connected from the ground up with nature. I pride myself in my bronze, suntanned skin while I walk around in the abyss of nature. My grandmother engaged me with my Indian culture before I could even walk. The soft, lightweight deer skin hide covers my small frame. My long braided hair, embedded with strings of leather and feathers swings back and forth as I dance around a powwow Indian ancestral circle. Luanie, our bird clan mother, led in the circle which brings the meaning of closeness to our community and culture. I became diverse with dancing, singing, and honoring the traditions of my Shawnee ancestors. I was fortunate enough to be included in my ancestors' culture by my grandmother. Both sides of my family come from a long line of Shawnee and Delaware North Native Americans. The word Ohio is taken from the Iroquois word ‘ohiyo’, which means “the great river.” Located in southern Ohio, I became inclusive to learning my ancestor's native traditions. My Grandmother -on my mother's side- attended powwow and green corn dances to celebrate our ancestors and planting season. I was immersed in different foods in my day-to-day life: cornbread, soups, and stews. During hunting season, my grandmother's good friend Chief Running Foot brought us heaps of small game and deer meat for us to feast on. When I was five, I finally got my native name. As a child, I was known as the local songbird. I sang my heart out with the beat of water drums and the beats of nature. From this, I was given the name Singing Dove. In my childhood years, I was homeschooled till the 2nd grade. Through this experience, I learned about my native heritage with hands-on learning. As we strolled past Indian mounds and Native American history landmarks, I became diversified by learning who I truly was in my family's history. One of the spots we visited was the Serpent Mounds in Peeples, Ohio. These prehistoric mounds, along with Hopewell, were ancient burial sites. Underneath the mounds are fragments of pottery, food, jewelry, and natural materials like flint and stone. Most ancient Indian mounds, such as the Serpent Mound, represent the shapes of animals -I find this very fascinating- to honor their representative animal. Connecting our soul to our family's history is an honor. Passing down traditions and cultural diversity for future generations to experience. With the childhood I had, I got to experience the wonders of my native ancestors. Through this experience, I have become a global citizen and a more diverse person in our American society. I will continue to celebrate our native traditions and make a career path toward reviving nature's habitat. By learning about other national tribes and how every tribe's traditions and rituals are different, I will be able to spread a national educational outlook on my family's history. With great pride, I am honored to have the blood of the Shawnee and Delaware Native American tribes of southern Ohio.