I Am Reclaiming the Indigenous Language I Never Knew

Choctaw was not taught to me, but now I need it to live authentically

A group of Choctaw Indian women weave baskets at St Matthews Church in McCurtain County, Oklahoma, early to mid 20th century. Photo: Visual Studies Workshop/Getty Images

Language has been on my mind a lot lately. Growing up in Oklahoma City as a Native child, I was surrounded by other Native folks and we all spoke English. I never had the opportunity to listen to or interact with fluent Choctaw speakers. My dad taught me words and phrases here and there, and he did the best he could knowing that, like me, he did not speak our language. I know it is not my dad’s fault, or my grandfather’s fault for not teaching his son. Nor is it my great-grandfather Silas’ fault, who only spoke Choctaw around other Choctaw men, but never to his children. I recently asked my dad why Grandpa Silas never passed down our language, and he told me that Silas just wanted his children to have a chance at better lives by hiding that part of them. Still, I can’t help but feel that I am missing out.

Last year I moved to western Massachusetts to begin working on my PhD. I can still remember what my good friend, Stephanie, said to me when I told her about the school I had chosen. “Well, I hope you know that I love you and I know you will do great things, but I will not be visiting you up there in the Great White North.” Stephanie hates cold weather more than anyone I know, but she was not talking about snow. I…