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Monday, Oct 9, 2006 from Sioux Falls, South Dakota
Posted: Oct 9, 2006 | 509 words | 0 Comments
While out with Dixie and Dave one night in Sioux Falls they introduced me to Ron. Dixie was telling me that Ron has his own seat at the old school Nutt’s bar, but he still hasn’t had the seat embroidered with his name. He was a great guy to talk to, in his young 40s, full of stories, and just an easy-going person. Something about the way he talks just pulls you in as well. Ron told Dave and I the greatest story of his life.
Ron was adopted when he was just a baby and grew up in South Dakota. He’s a Native American belonging in part to two different tribes; one being the Ojibwa tribe, which is the local tribe, back home in Baraga. He’s a contractor now and doesn’t get to do all the traveling he wishes, though he commends me for what I’m doing. However, while growing up he was fortunately to do lots of traveling with his family and has been to 36 states. Not bad.
At the age of 40 Ron decided it was time to meet his birth mother. A friend of Ron’s encouraged him to put an ad in the newspaper where he thought his mom might be living. By luck one his mom’s friends saw the ad. The ad had the number to contact Ron’s friend. Well at the time Ron was driving with his girlfriend and in the middle of a big argument. When his phone rang it was his friend asking, “Remember when we had discussed putting an ad in the paper to help find your mother.” Ron remembered and thought nothing of it until his friend told Ron that his mother was sitting in the same room.
Needless to say the argument with his then girlfriend was over and Ron talked to his mom on the phone for nearly two hours. Ron had learned that he was the baby of the family and the only child (of four of five) that was not in touch with his mother. He was also able to get in touch with his siblings and begin close relationships with them.
Thanksgiving had arrived and at this point Ron was having regular conversations with his newfound family members. His mother was getting anxious for her kids to call and wish her a happy Thanksgiving, thinking she was going to see any of them. And together they all came to her house at once; the first time Ron met his mother. He always told himself that he wouldn’t cry, but admitted that the tears rushed from everyone’s face.
To make the day perfect it was snowing and there was a full moon in the sky, which are symbolic to Ron’s tribe.
I do this story no justice. By no means am I a great storyteller or writer, but being there in person and hearing this story had a lot of impact. I’m fortunate to be able to listen to stories like this as I make my way across the country. My learning experience continues.