Our eyes never left the screen. The announcer said this was the Macy’s Thanksgiving Day Parade. We watched until the parade ended when a bearded white man named Santa Claus and his reindeer stopped in front of Macy’s Department Store.
“Can we watch something else?” I asked.
“Ask your father,” Mama said. “I haven’t the foggiest idea of how to work that thing.”
Daddy went over and turned the channel knob around. He stopped on a station with cartoons, which looked like moving comic-book images to me. I sat spellbound and didn’t move until noon, when Mama demanded we come and have dinner.
“John, you give grace,” Mama said, finally sitting down at the table.
“All righty,” Daddy said, putting down his fork. “We give thanks for good food. Good meat. Good God. Let’s eat.”
“John!”
“Regina, would you please lead us in prayer?” Mama said in a huff.
“Bless us, oh Lord, and these thy gifts, which we are about to receive from thy bounty, through Christ our Lord. Amen.” I looked at everyone around the table. “Chich, are you okay?”
“Just a little tired. I’ll lay down for a bit after we eat.” She seemed tired more often now.
For the first time since we left Grand Ronde, food covered almost the entire table. Turkey, mashed potatoes, gravy, stuffing, corn, peas, and red Jell-O with whipped cream, my favorite dessert. Since we didn’t celebrate Thanksgiving back home, Miss Elsie shared her stuffing recipe with Mama, so she’d know how to make it. It was delicious.
And that’s when I knew we weren’t poor anymore. No one who ate like this and owned a television could be poor.
22 Living the Dream
If getting a TV and having a full table of food wasn’t enough to convince me we weren’t poor anymore, then Christmas that year sure did.
“A car, John, really?” Mama said, loud enough for the entire neighborhood to hear.
Yes, just before Christmas, Daddy bought a car. It was a brown 1950 Lincoln Club coupe, complete with working headlights, real tan leather seats, and no rust spots.
“Cate,” Daddy said as Mama stood on the porch with her hands on her hips, “I need a car to get to work. And we need a car to go shopping.”
“I don’t mind taking the bus with Miss Elsie. She’s always good company.”
“Well, I mind.”
Peewee and I couldn’t wait to climb inside. We opened the back door and sat, winding down the windows and bouncing on the seats.
“Okay, John, just how much is this going to cost us?” Mama asked.
Daddy just grinned. “Don’t worry. Trust me. We can afford it.”
Chich strolled around the sedan. “What’s wrong with buying a used truck?” she asked.
“Look around you, Ma. People here don’t drive trucks.”
I leaned out the car window and searched the neighborhood. Daddy was right. Every vehicle on the street was either a Chevy, Ford, or Dodge car. Not a truck in sight.
In Grand Ronde, trucks ruled. Not only could they handle the muddy roads during the rainy season, but they could hold a whole cord of wood for winter. And two broken-down trucks could be combined into one running truck.
But this was Christmas season. Daddy got his car. Mama got to go shopping for more than two days’ worth of groceries. Chich got to explore a fabric store farther away. And Peewee and I got to see Santa over at Sears.
Then, on Christmas morning, Peewee and I got more presents than we ever had before. Daddy received a few more tools and two short-sleeved white shirts. Daddy bought Mama some Jean Naté perfume, a new dress, and gold clip-on earrings. Chich got more yarn, quilting squares, needles, and a jacket-and-skirt set.
Peewee and I usually got dresses from Chich, and we did again, but this year they were made from colorful calico cloth. Daddy and Mama gave Raggedy Ann and Andy dolls with doll beds to Peewee. I got charcoal and colored pencils with some sketch pads. We both got a deck of cards to share.
“Hey, Daddy,” Peewee said, holding up the cards, “now you can teach us poker.”
Mama just shook her head. “Don’t you dare,” she warned. Daddy winked at us when she wasn’t looking.
I remembered when we first arrived at 58th Place. Daddy jokingly said moving to LA made us Americans, that soon we’d be white people, and Indian no more. Now I wondered if that all might be coming true.
23 No Service
Funny how life sometimes answers your questions sooner than you expect.
After Christmas, Daddy drove to work instead of taking the bus. Mama started waitressing Friday and Saturday nights over at Peking’s Restaurant. Chich continued to sew, crochet, and cook. She also taught Peewee and me Chinuk Wawa words and symbols found in our culture like those we saw woven into baskets or carved into wood.
In other words, life was feeling a little better in Los Angeles.
“Daddy is taking us all out for dinner tonight,” Mama announced in late January. She had taken the night off work.
Back in Grand Ronde, we could never afford going out for dinner, not even when Mama was working at the local diner. Sitting down for a meal at a restaurant — wow!
“Can I order whatever I want?” I asked, already dreaming of pork chops smothered in gravy.
“Let’s see what the restaurant serves first,” Chich said, brushing invisible lint from her skirt. “Did tɘnɘs-man say why we’re going out?”
“He said he would tell us at the restaurant,” Mama replied, putting lipstick on and blotting her lips on a tissue.
Just thinking about going out to dinner made Peewee and me hungry. But Mama wouldn’t let us have a snack in the kitchen. “You’ll spoil your dinner,” she said.
The winter sun had already set when Daddy finally arrived home from work. Each of us chose our new clothes from Christmas. Mama twirled around in her multicolored dress and black pumps. Chich had on her navy-blue skirt with its matching jacket. Peewee and I wore matching store-bought dresses from Sears and colorful
