The Star Quilt Giveaway (ii)

Just a word or two on Sioux Star Quilts. They are themselves traditional, which makes the pattern within of significant value to the community. In other words, this table runner, all by its lonesome, carries great meaning to and in the tribe or band--and, at the moment I realized it was designated to be mine, I couldn't help thinking it was going to be carried on home by this white guy, which, to me, made no sense.

I was embarrassed--I was, honestly. I walked up to the front and was presented with the Star Quilt by Marcella herself, who wore a radiant smile. I actually thought of standing before the entire gathering and telling them I was very happy to be the recipient, but there had to be dozens of grandchildren and great-grandchildren who would undoubtedly value grandma's work more. She was a legend on the reservation. 

I started walking to the table in the back where I'd been sitting, then spotted one of Marcella's daughters at the end of the aisle. Behind me, the Giveaway was continuing. I stopped beside that daughter, held the quilt out before me, and told her that I thought one of Marcella's descendants would make a much better recipient. I was serious, and, besides, I thought I was being gracious; after all, I would have liked to take that Sioux Star home.

She made no motion toward the quilt, just bore down on me with her eyes and made it very clear to this non-Native that giving the quilt back was something of a profanation. It simply wasn't done. It would be a violation of an old and blessed ritual that Marcella herself had thought to adopt for this, her 99th birthday. The real value was in her giving, not my getting.

Marcella's daughter looked at me as if my pleading was not only mistaken, it was almost irreverant because the ritual had determined me to be the one who would take the table-runner home, not any of the others. If I gave it back, it would, in a sense, profane the ritual; and wouldn't it be just like some white guy to misread the whole idea of what was going on, what Marcella herself was up front doing right then, something akin to walking to the front of the church, picking up the bread and wine, and then giving it to someone else.

So the Sioux Star table runner is here now--tucked away somewhere in what few corners we have for "stuff in the basement," now that we've moved to senior housing. It's mine.

And so is its story. I just looked--it may be worth between $400 and $1500, but it's not on the market.

We have two children, one of whom lives here in Iowa, the other in Oklahoma. Neither of them have likely ever seen the Sioux Star table runner, nor could they know anything of its origins. Someday they will find it when rummaging through their parents' "stuff." (We have no basement.) 

I don't know what they'll do with it, but if it's worth a grand, I'm guessing they'll try sell it. 

I hope not.  

Look at it again up there at the top the page. It's beautiful.

I have no idea whether my children read these pages, but if they do, I hope they realize that this whole story--it took me two days to tell--is for them, in hopes they won't just let it go without gauging a sense of their father's joy--and pain.