A song and a story

So I thought I would do the same challenge Big Nederlander did because it looked fun and I love a challenge. So click here and read the story.

There was this man, who was always a man. even when he was a young boy he was a man. He lived in the rolling prairie with his grandparents and called them mom and dad. He grew up in a log cabin with no running water. He grew with his grandparents being devout Catholics, in the middle of the reservation. He never understood the balance they kept between being Lakota and Catholic. All he knew was, when he was struck by lightning at age 7, it had to mean something special to him. He ran in the hills he loved and lived in. His grandparents babied him. Letting him bring home injured animals. He had pet deer and raccoons growing up. He never understood why he looked so different from his family. He was shorter and darker and had different features. He never questioned it either. When he learned the truth, that his real father was in the Air Force, a Filipino, married, and never knew about him and his mother, instead of living with the shame of a love child at seventeen, left her firstborn with her parents while she traveled the world as an Air Force wife...he brushed away the reason why he was born. And he ran.

And ran.

It was his passion. When he went to school he ran for the cross country team. Many times he brought home medals. His grandma proudly saved every medal and ribbon.

At age seventeen he fell in love. She was the most beautiful girl in high school and she loved him back. When she was pregnant with their first child he knew this was his future.

He married her after they had their daughter. And then they had a son. And then one day a few years later she left him. He came home and she was gone with his 2 children.

His youth and temper landed him in trouble and he did his time.

Then, he was done with his time and was struck by lightning again.

That is when he knew he had to grow up and find himself in his Lakota religion. He began to sundance every summer. The 4 days in the hot sun with no water and food was hard but it was the sacrifice he paid for his children and his people.

Dreams of lightning and thunder continued to haunt him as he rode his Harley through the prairie.

One Christmas Day, in his 50's, he had a stroke. He told no one of it. He didn't go to the doctor. He stayed home and prayed. He prayed for his children and grandchildren. He prayed for his people. He knew someday he would not be here for the 4 children he didn't raise. 3 daughters and one son. And all their children.

He gave away all things that meant something to him. He gave his medals and ribbons and old pictures to his 2 oldest children. He gave them copies of his will. He gave them things they needed.

He gave them their religion. Through himself. He gave them back the ways of the people.

Because he knew one day, he wouldn't be there for them.

But he prayed they would carry on the ways when he was gone. And he hoped everything he did for them, would someday mean something to them.

He doesn't know...that it already does.