Theresa from Wahpeton

Randi Beardslee

I was born on November 3rd, 1964. My mother worked as a waitress at the local

dairy bar at the time, serving up ice cream cones to the Indians and the whites alike.

My mother was white, but I was half Chippewa. My Indian father left to –

somewhere – before I had the chance to learn his name.

The dichotomy I felt in my own blood was unbearable, at times.

In the morning, I had to decide whether I wanted to braid my hair, or ask my mom to straighten the stubborn waves with the clothing iron.

One day, I picked up a book on zodiac signs at our local library. The older white woman

often eyed me with disdain whenever I came around. She scoffed fairly loudly at my book

choice on that day.

I discovered that I was a Scorpio. All of the listed characteristics and idiosyncrasies

seemed to match me perfectly.

I felt a sense of understanding and belonging when I read the book: it knew I

was loyal, passionate, and observant.

It also knew my secrets: I could be manipulative, paranoid, and jealous.

Water was my element.

I found a definition of myself that I had longed for my entire life.

An interesting portion of the book outlined the various body parts which the signs were associated with. I discovered that, according

to my sun sign, I was most closely connected with my genitals.

This, accompanied with how often my sign insisted that I was such a

“passionate lover”, disturbed me, but piqued my interest.

As I grew older, my zodiac definition stuck in the back of my mind. I went through

puberty, discovered men, and found that I really was a “passionate lover”.

At least, that’s what Joseph Migwans told me in his father’s tool shed when

I was 15.

Eventually, the men I met and began to “go steady” with didn’t like my passion. They

seemed threatened.

They found it off-putting, like I was an over-excited dog that wanted her

stomach rubbed.

I felt disappointment, like I had done something wrong. So, I abandoned my Scorpio self. I forgot about sexuality.

I became a waitress at the dairy bar, with my mother. I dropped out of high school, because that’s what my mother did. And she always

turned out just fine.

Then Kyle Olney got me pregnant. And, he left to somewhere, too. And I had a baby, a

minimum-wage job, and a mother who hadn’t turned out just fine.

Her boyfriend left her and the bottle found her.

In short, I needed money.