Old Sun Annex

Oki [hello] my name is Vivian Rose Brass, I am from Siksika Nation. I would like to talk about when I was about seven years old I went to residential, at Old Sun Indian Residential School. I would like to picture myself… for me I was, for me I was way too young to be taken away from my family. I always remember this black car that always came to the house on Sunday, that would take me back. Well anyway, I was still a young child. I know I was so happy I had my munchies, but I just I couldn’t eat, I couldn’t drink my pop, my chips, my chocolate bar. They had to go in our box so I would just sit there and then we would have supper. But the loneliness was inside of me.

I remember we’d go downstairs in the playroom, I’d sit there, and we had our own, like, these boxes and benches they had lids and we have stuff like cut out paper dolls and stuff like that, toys whatever we had. This was the first, it happened three times. I always had a hiding spot, it was under the stairs, the basement stairs going up. I’d hide in that little, like a little hiding spot. I’d wait for all the footsteps that go upstairs. It was time for bedtime. As soon as I hear the end, I just run to that door in the playroom, and I just run.

Those lights made my way home. I’m not sure if it was the first, second or third time I ran away, it was gravel road and it was cold. It was along the gravel road I was running. I didn’t know where I had the energy, but it was dark. And there was an old windmill, I don’t know if it still there. No, it is not there anymore. There was an old lady, she was in the ditch calling me. In our language, the Blackfoot language, she told me to go over to her, “come here” and that I looked tired.

“I was tired”, so she told me to put my head on her lap and she covered… I don’t know what she covered me up with. But anyway she woke me up that morning and told me it was time to go. It is light now, the sun was up and I sat. There was nobody, so I got up and I started running again. You could hear vehicles cause it is gravel. There were two grainery, old grainery bins in the field. In the field I ran towards them, and I hid there till this… and here it was my great uncle, grandpa Russel Wright. He just told me in Blackfoot “come here”. So I went with him, they just live down in the valley of Chicago. He put me beside the fire with a blanket and he gave me some tea and bannock. Later on he brought me back, he brought me home to my mom and dad. As soon as we got there, I was brought back.

It was a black car that picked me up. I vaguely remember the guy’s name but they said if I didn’t go back that they would send me to a foster home. I just didn’t want to go back. So being reassured with my dad, he brought me back, he was wondering why I ran away.  It was always the same thing, I always had that idea. When I get back I would sit on my bed. They put me closer to the door beside the room mother, Miss Currie. And my dad would talk to her. They would watch me but sometimes during the night I would get up, but I know there is bathroom, but I look out the window. I can’t sneak out the fire escape. But I just sit there and all I just remember is a red light, its an exit light or something. I’ve done… that I’ve hid in that spot under the stairs, because that was my hideaway and that door was my exit and the power plant was the light, it was my light. The road to back home.

Being that young and to remember all that… there should have never been a residential. Going to school in Bassano waking up early, I just felt like a lost kid. “You have to do this,” “you have to do that.” And today, to this day sometimes I teach my grandkids you are lucky residentials are closed. Cause back then it wasn’t as easy as today. I grew up lonely, missing mom, dad, my family, my siblings. Why?

When I think about it today it kind of makes me feel stronger. I don’t know the old lady that kept me warm, but I know there is somebody out there, people out there that take care of you. Must be the nice old lady, maybe she’s watching over me to this day. That was just my… and when I do go to the Old Sun School, I think back. I see those stairs and I just laugh about it and I just tell my kids, that’s where I used to hide and that’s the door I ran out. They never knew. But I thank the lord today that I am still here, and I don’t know what good.. if it was worth it, going to residential.

– Vivian Rose Brass

Notes:

Oral interview with Vivian Rose Brass. Conducted, translated, and transcribed by Angeline Ayoungman. Old Sun Community College, March 23, 2022.