Uncle George on the right
On the day they laid
my Uncle George Hancock to rest I went to my first Pow Wow. The interment was in
Martinsburg, West Virginia and the Pow Wow was on the grounds of the Stanford
University Palo Alto, California.
My uncle drove himself to the hospital so he
could have his heart attack there. The day before he didn't show up for church
and told folks not to visit.
Uncle George indicated to his minister that he wanted the life-support equipment turned off. Two days in the hospital was enough. At 91 years old, Uncle George was as deliberate as he's been all
his life.
My buddies Curtis, Richard and I were out for a day of picture taking. We happened upon a gathering of 40 nations of indigeneous
people. Surprised and delighted, we took many pictures, ate fry
bread, and joined in prayer giving thanks.
We stayed for the
Grand Entry and were treated with such a colorful pageantry of costumes and
dance that kept us clicking furiously until sundown and the chill chased us
away.
On the drive back to
Oakland we marveled that it was the first Pow Wow for each of us. Curtis pointed out that the real PowWow probably begins long after dark. Richard said that we'll miss the really
good stuff.
At a quiet moment in
the ride, Uncle George came to me; glad that I enjoyed myself with friends and
new acquaintances. We had our time together for a week in November of 2003. We
savored every moment. Deliberately.
