Haddayr Copley-Woods is proud to be a Gaelic American mother of two boys. She’ll get back to you on the menstruation thing.
Haddayr Copley-Woods
I vividly remember my first period.
When I saw the stain, I sighed in resignation. There it was, plain as day: darker and sparser than I’d thought—but blood nonetheless.
“Oh, joy,” I said sarcastically to the cracked linoleum at my feet. “Now I’m a woman.”
My only hope was that my mother would not completely freak out, which to a 13-year-old meant any sort of sudden movement or genuine emotion.
She did not freak. Although she carefully reflected my gruff and practical attitude so as not to startle the skittish woodland creature that is an adolescent girl, she could not hide the warm smile on her face. She told me about how she’d thought her own would never come, and when it did that she’d had to wear a belt. She gave me the boxes of junior tampons and pads she’d been saving for me. And that was that. It was a nice, understated way to start out life as a woman.
So I’ll admit that when a Lakota friend and coworker invited me to her daughter’s “First Moon” feast, I got a little uncomfortable. All I could think of was how mortified I would have been had my mother done something like this for me.
But I went—and I’m so glad I did.
The feast itself was simple: a large, mixed-gender group of the young woman’s family and friends got together to share a meal. The guest of honor wore a splendid pink dress. An elder stood up to talk about Lakota traditions and practices surrounding menstruation, and then several other women talked about their first periods, or about moon traditions in their own tribes, or imparted advice to the girl about womanhood. Her mother thanked everyone for coming and told us, beaming, how wonderful it was to celebrate this First Moon with her only daughter. There was a giveaway: I brought home several yards of beautiful, shimmering fabric.
These basic facts do not convey how moving the experience was. It was upsetting at times: the elder who spoke told us that because of cultural repression she’d never had a First Moon feast of her own. It was celebratory, too—local Native traditions and attitudes surrounding menstruation describe it as a powerful, reflective time for a woman to take time for herself—a new idea for me. It was personally revelatory: for the first time, I saw why many women particularly yearn for daughters. As a mom, I will not be the one showing my sons what it means to be a man: their father will. And I even got a humbling peek into the WannaBe heart: even if there was a place for me as a woman in it, I know of no Gaelic ritual to mark my sons’ passages from boyhood to manhood.
I felt, for a moment, a little wistful.
I hesitated to write the above sentence; I just wrote an entire column about how great it is to be a mom of boys (which I stand by). And I cringe at members of the “WannaBe Nation” who at best clasp their hands joyfully over “exotic” Native rituals and at worst run rough-shod over them: disrespectfully snatching at (and twisting) such traditions with pale, turquoise-encrusted fingers. Besides the fact that it’s unintentionally racist, it’s just plain annoying. Research your own heritage, I want to holler. We all have rich traditions to draw from. Stop misappropriating other cultures and embrace your own.
I generally do a good job of walking the walk: I have carefully researched genuine Irish and Scottish folk tradition and language, and I practice what I can of it. Most of the time, I find my involvement with all of this wholly satisfying.
But I admit after the feast I left with a strange, unsettling feeling: envy. Despite what Europeans have done—unintentionally and intentionally—to destroy Native American culture, my Indian friends have a nearly direct line to genuine, deep spiritual and cultural connection through elders who have kept tradition and language alive. Not, like mine, a tradition filtered through Rome for nearly two thousand years.
So, I do what I can: I content myself with the satisfaction that such genuine rituals exist, and with my gratitude that I was included in one of them. I remember with a smile the simple ritual of shared memories and a box of tampons that was my own First Moon ritual. And I’m grateful for that, too.
Reader Comments
Posted: Thursday, October 09, 2008
Article comment by:
Jen
I don't think there's anything wrong with adopting traditions of other cultures. As an American henna artist of European decent, I'm not always quite what's expected when I arrive to put henna on a bride, or paint the hands of women and girls at an Eid party. I'm always treated with respect none the less. I think this is becuase I've taken the time to learn and understand these traditions even though I wasn't born to them. I don't make any attempt to Americanize them either. I respect the traditions for what they are and take them in context and without any preconceived notions. I can't tell you how much I've been able to learn about people, culture, faith, and the world through my work.
Posted: Sunday, June 04, 2006
Article comment by:
Yan Ratter
This tale left a rose in my cheeks and a dandelion in my driveway. Your best work was at Lang sweetheart. Rock on!
Posted: Thursday, August 25, 2005
Article comment by:
Jane Hansen
What a wonderful story! But I must speak up for those of us of European ancestry who are trying to reconstruct our traditions. All was not lost to Rome. The paths of our ancestors are revealed in the Myths, and folklore, and archeological remains. It takes some digging, but many of us are reclaiming the Old Ways or create new ones which resonate and can be passed down to the next generation.
