Evidently, I've been a good boy

Page 6

As many reputable philosophers have urged, every once in a while a person should step back, take a good look at their life and figure out where they fit on the big bingo card of Creation. Always remember, the centre square comes free, but everything else is your responsibility, though I'm not quite sure Socrates or Satre ever quite phrased it that way.

The reason I bring this up is that on some days, I wake up and realize I must be living somebody else's life. I mean, I grew up thinking I would probably spend most of my adult life working at my band office, embezzling money from Indian Affairs Canada. Alas, that glorious career was denied to me. Instead, I find myself doing things and going places no self-respecting boy from the Rez should find himself doing or being, let alone dreaming.

For instance, I just recently returned from a trip to Venice, Italy where I lectured on Native theatre in Canada, and I'm buying a new house with my buz'gem (Ojibway for person who steals all the blankets when she's not busy telling you to wash them in the next load of laundry). And perhaps the most amazing thing of all, and we're talking some serious mind boggling here, is that my already mentioned buz'gem is a professional cheerleader for the Toronto Argos football team! I'm not kidding. May Matthew Coon Comb eat my status card if I'm lying.

I repeat . . . I'm living with a cheerleader, outfit and all. I seem to remember asking Santa for this back in my adolescent years but its not something you would expect him to come through on. Santa may be slow but never count him out.

On top of that, it seems I have the unique distinction of co-habitating with the only Ph.D. (in Native Education) student, Mohawk cheerleader in the Canadian Football League, possibly in the National Football League too. Now there's a unique combination worthy of Ripley's Believe It or Not. And the truly bizarre thing is, Dawn's cheering career is totally unexpected. It's not like she dreamed and dreamed of shaking her pom-poms for tens of thousands of strange people. Not exactly a common career goal for the vast majority of Native youth.

It was just a case of Dawn being at the right place at the right time, being invited to an audition and going just out of curiosity (having seven years dance training behind you doesn't hurt) and having a willingness to shower with 34 other women (wait a minute . . . actually that was another letter I sent to Santa).

But perhaps one of the greatest moments of my life was when Dawn and 11 other women were invited to be models in the official Argo cheerleaders calendar. She and the rest were going to be flown down to the Dominican Republic for the photography shoot. And for this luxury and privilege, she was going to have to trade in her cheerleading outfit for a bikini, as were the other girls.

So as logic would dictate, she along with the rest were required to appear for fittings at a bikini warehouse, so they could find the perfect two outfits that met with approval from the photographer and organizers. And as I said before, I must have done something really cool in a previous life because . . . I got to go along for the fitting.

So picture it in your mind. A room full of a dozen beautiful women, trying on at least a dozen bikinis in the search for the right "look." I was in awe. Every 10 minutes I went up to Dawn and enthusiastically told her, from the bottom of my heart, "Thank you. Really, I mean, Dawn. Thank you. Can I buy you a car or something?" There was another boyfriend at the fitting and I vaguely remember asking him "Have you every felt completely out of place, but didn't give a damn?" With a sort of glazed look in his face, he agreed. I think he agreed. I may have had that same glazed look too.

I know that to some, this all might seem a bit sexist but they need not worry. I'm a happy camper because I'm just as infatuated with Dawn's Ph.D. capabilities as much as her bikini aptitudes. I can say that with omplete honesty. But writing an article about a group of people in a room measuring I.Q.s just doesn't have the same visual stimulus. I would have felt completely out of place there too, but then I would have given a damn.

And in my defense, I remember this one woman I knew who used to criticize men for ogling and drooling over pretty women. Until I finally pointed out a post card of muscle-bound men stuck to her refrigerator door. Oddly enough, the heads had all been cut off the men leaving just their muscular bodies for visual appearance, and I remember her saying that's how she liked her men, great bodies, don't bother about their heads. Two wrongs don't make a right but I rest my case.

So now, after these wonderful experiences have been committed to memory, I think I can safely say that I am now willing to face death, should it ever come. Even face it with a smile. Definitely, a huge smile. Though I sure wish I knew what I did that was so wonderful in that last life.