Breaking Cultural Taboos can be Fun!

In the winter of 2006, my grandma (Ma) passed away from a combination of a broken hip, diabetes and old age. Needless to say, it was pretty bummer of a time. We had her viewing on a cold and rainy evening. There was not too many of us there, just my mom my brother, my uncle, and the mortuary people and I.

My mom and I did not want to view Ma's corpse, it felt a little to surreal that she passed. The thing about Ma was she helped raised my siblings and I. She acted as a second mother to us and was very caring. On the other hand, Ma could also be a world class witch. There were times my mother and I could not wait for the day she went the way of the earth. We all joked, wished and prayed for her passing. My mom and my sister wanted to tell Ma off for all the heartache she had caused us throughout the years. Yes, my family is terrible people.

Pictured: My family being terrible. 

My mother and I strolled up to her body, confident in the fact that we were going to laugh and probably do a dance right in front of Ma's body. When we got up to the casket and saw Ma's body, so small and fragile, we did not cuss her out or light her on fire. We did the exact opposite. We felt horrible for having those feelings and ashamed of all the acts we wanted to do, such as the dancing. My mom, who had years of anger, resentment and sorrow built up within her, let it all out through the tears now streaming down her face. My mom, broke down crying.

We were crying because someone littered. 

DVD fun fact; seeing my mom cry makes me weep like a baby. My mom and I  held each other and rained our sadness. We cried for a good five minutes on the fact that we will never see Ma ever again. No more taking trips to the fruit stand. No more Sundays eating her plain, watery beans and doughy fry bread. No more songs of sunshine. After we finished our good cry, we hugged and talked about all the good times and silly things Ma would do.

Now, I will admit, on that night I was a little bit high. The stress of Ma's death, which made our family even tinier, was a lot. I met my family at the funeral home, I burned one in the parking lot before I went in. Even though it helped me relax a bit, the thought of all the emotions and reality of the situation did not let me enjoy the fancies of THC. After saying this, it in no way excuses my following behavior.

Or great excuse?

While looking over Ma's brittle body, I let go of my mom and reached out for Ma's hand. I squeezed the waxy, cold appendage that was once Ma's strong, earthy hand. My mom smiled at my gesture and another tear ran down her cheek. It was at this moment that I stared at Ma's nose. After staring for a moment and listening to the Devil that was most likely whispering insane dark promptings to me, I put my finger in Ma's nostril.

My mom's eyes went wide with equal parts shock, terror and rage. She than punched me on the shoulder. Not slapped, no, my mom was a Marine. She straight up socked me.

My mom than pulled her saber. 

"What the HELL is WRONG with you?!"

In my slightly drug addled brain, I did not understand why mom was so upset. My actions made perfect sense. To understand my mom's anger, let me break something down for ya'll. In Navajo culture, dead bodies and other necrotastic objects are a huge no no. One does not touch them or associate with them in any way. We are not even really allowed to talk about the dead. Me on the other hand, forgetting thousands of years of traditions and social norms, did just what one does not do.

Thankfully, my mom is pretty liberal and let it slide. We laughed about it later that evening. If my uncle ever found out, however, he would have shot me.

Navajo Culture and Ma's furious ghost got back at me in a huge way. Ma's burial was in New Mexico on family land. Mom, my brother and I loaded up the car and were heading down later that week. While driving through Polygamistville, Arizona, our car was T-boned by a polygamist in his A-Team van. Karma can be a bitch.

Navajo Tradition: 1 Me: 0