Wawahte tells the experiences of three friends who trusted me to write their stories. Their childhood was much the same as those of more than 150,000 Aboriginal children who, between 1883 and 1996, were forced to attend one of 130 residential schools and equally demeaning day schooling in Canada. Written in two parts, Wawahte also mines the history of how the opinion of a handful of people became widely accepted by a nation, giving rise to official programs that were publicly touted as beneficial, but which actually discriminated against entire ethnic groups.

Many times, I have been asked why I wrote about “Indians,” the First Nations People of Canada. This is a valid question.

Having grown-up on a lake in a remote part of northwestern Ontario played a major role in why I wrote the book. In winter, my family and the Tenniscoe’s (an Indian family) lived on Lake Windigoostigwan. Our family consisted of my mom and dad, my three younger brothers, myself, and sometimes an uncle. We might have an occasional visitor, but that was rare. Each time someone visited, it was an event appreciated as the rarity that they were.

In relative solitude, we were close to family and nature. The smallest noise was heard and nothing went unnoticed. Seeing other people consisted of watching the CNR passenger train pass by. The passengers waved. The train did not stop unless my dad had a reason for it to do so. There were no roads or automobiles. I never saw or met children that lived only twenty miles away.

In summer, my dad hired “Indians” to guide the American tourists who came to our camp to go fishing. The guides were different and amusing. In quiet conversation they charmed us. They had an incredible, unscripted sense of humor. Without radio, television, movies, or daily newspapers – they entertained themselves, using words, sounds, facial expressions and stories. They saw funny things around them that we didn’t even notice.

These people were my friends and playmates. They would listen to me and show me things. They would make fun of everyone around them including themselves – never mean, but always with the precision of a good surgeon.

When I went outside, my catechism lessons remained with my fairly religious mom. My spirit had been captured by the wonders of nature and the Mother-earth concepts of my friends.


When I grew up, we called them “Indians”. They called themselves “Indians”. We were both wrong, they are not “indians”. I have often thought about why we kept calling them “indians”. It couldn’t have taken Columbus more than a day or two to figure out that he wasn’t in the suburbs of Bombay. The Europeans had been trudging off to India, using other routes, for centuries before Columbus set sail.

I think we called them “indians” because we could. Because we were stronger, we could just do it and get away with it. We didn’t have to have good hearing and we didn’t have to listen. We got to name the whole thing and it worked pretty well for us.

When I grew up, it was called Bombay, Calcutta, Peking, and Siam. Now these places are Mumbai, Kolkata, Beijing, and Thailand. What happened? Did the west finally get a hearing aid? Did we have to change because China, India, and Thailand became more independent, important and stronger? Is the world coming to realize we are all on the same planet and we might get along a little better if we start listening to one another? Possibly so!

Peoples anticipated answer to their question (Why?), is for me to say, I felt sorry for how aboriginal people have been mistreated by people that looked like me. This is true, but upon reflection, feeling sorry played a very small part in me writing “Wawahte”. I wrote Wawahte because I honour the people it is about. Many First Nation people have long-standing relationship with the natural world, but so do I. They are a vital part of my history and part of Canadian/American culture.