Where Xutos shakes a tail feather

Power to the powwow moms

By Nathaniel Hoffman, 12-10-06

The high school parking lot was full of vans. Not minivans per se, but older, sturdy vans with enough capacity for a small tribe.

My buddy called them powwow vans.

The gym echoed with the din of high school gymnasiums everywhere. Only this time it was a pulsing din. A steady, up tempo “We Will Rock You.” A heart beating in the back court.

This was a winter powwow, but I could not keep my coat on for long. Even though I looked cooler with a coat on.

Most of the dancers had been there all day. We just showed up for the second Grand Entry at 7 p.m., my toddler Petra in tow.

It was her first powwow.

I had come with a story in mind. But it didn’t work out.

Instead I was struck with the idea that all the little kids there and their moms were a missed demographic: the powwow moms. With vans and big bags of regalia. Always on the road between Nevada and Washington and Idaho and Montana. Doing it all for their kids.

It took me almost all evening to get the powwow moms to talk to me. Petra helped by befriending a little three year old who had mastered the downbeat stomp. I thought he was a girl at first and almost lost all my credibility.

One of the women said the reservation kids love to dance. They play basketball and soccer too, but dancing is THE organized extracurricular activity.

There are many things going on at a powwow. There are older folks who have danced all of their lives. They are dancing for something a bit beyond my grasp.

But the kids I get. All the tribes get together at the powwows. The kids see their friends. They get all dressed up and get to perform. And they get a crisp dollar bill at the end.

It’s like a karate tournament. Or an ice skating show. Or ballet.

Not that there is anything particularly surprising in that.

But why do the soccer moms still get all the credit?

Get ready for the spring powwows.

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