TO MY SON , Levi,
I can still see your sweet face waiting for an answer as we stood at the edge of the cemetery, a gentle breeze blowing the long prairie grasses around Renie’s grave.
After our family left Fairholme, I discovered very quickly that my culture didn’t have any value in my new life. Overnight, it became a handicap, and I had to reinvent myself to be accepted. I didn’t have a skin color, like Rhoney, to give me away, so I hid my Hutterite self in English clothing, melting into the mainstream and cringing at the word Hutterite because of people’s harsh and misinformed opinions.
After high school, I wanted to become a professional singer. Your grandpa Dornn was worried about such a worldly career choice, because he knew I wouldn’t be satisfied singing only religious songs. It was he who suggested I become a news reporter. Reporting is a form of storytelling, and the Maendels are particularly good at that. I took my training in Winnipeg, and it was there that I reclaimed my “Indian” name, Mary-Ann.
Over the coming years, when someone spoke unkindly about my culture, I had remained quiet, although sometimes, on impulse, my voice cried out, “That’s not true!” Ignorance and misperceptions had wounded my soul, and I wanted to rise up and openly take my rightful place in society.
Your grandma and grandpa taught me that liberty from our past begins with forgiveness. When Grandpa brought Grandma to Jake Vetter’s funeral, he thought about all the times he had been in conflict with Jake Maendel. As he waited for her, he felt so relieved that he had written the letter asking for forgiveness two years earlier. The pain was raw then, and the memories fresh, but Grandpa had consciously chosen the path of forgiveness.
Levi, you are the great-grandson of Joseph and Katrina Maendel from Old Rosedale Colony. If their bones could speak, they would claim you as their own. Nothing will ever change that. So be proud of it, my son, for it is only when we embrace our past that we can find true fulfillment in our future. The dream I used to have about losing my mother in the fabric store because I was distracted by the glitz of beautiful buttons came true. It was the sight of Grandma’s skirt and the sound of our own language that led me back to safety. Today, I am filled with a deep appreciation of where I have come from and a better sense of where I’m going. The Hutterite culture has defined me in ways that can never be erased. In my heart, I will always remain a Hutterite.
So now you know, Levi. Now you know.