A 60s Scoop survivor reflects on taking risks, telling stories and finding allies
David Smith | for CBC | Posted: November 29, 2024 5:05 PM | Last Updated: November 29
David Smith, a member of Metepenagiag First Nation, is working on a novel
Late in the evening of Jan. 30, 2022, I clicked the resign button on my job of eight years. I had spent 23 years in tech support talking to people who did not want to talk to me. The quiet in my mind following this click was dwarfed only by the anxiety edging behind my eyes as the evening closed.
This was death.
I knew it as a ten-year old when I lost the only mother I knew. I knew it as a one-year-old laying on the floor lifeless. This click of the mouse was final. When I awake in the morning, I told myself, things will be different.
It wouldn't be until June 1, six months after that click, that I would open my mouth and speak my story for the first time, in front of 80 strangers: Front line team members in the tourism industry. The jaggedness of my speech, uncertainty of my demeanour and awkward laughs were telling.
Some people go to school to do what I do. They study for hours, weeks, months and years. For this to work, I had to be bold.
In my teens I knew I would be a writer, just knew it. But life got a hold of me in the form of a headset and computer mouse.
My storytelling days were never to be.
I was what they called a 60s Scoop victim. Being in a place where one does not belong was my story. There was a time when the people of this land did not want me to grow up to be what I am becoming.
See, I was taken away from my family at age one and adopted by a wonderful family. They cared for me as best as they could, however, they could never account for one thing: my mind was still Indigenous, with Indigenous needs.
There were a few in my past who saw this. Mrs. Brown for instance. She taught my creative writing class in grade 10. I was the worst student you can imagine, spending more days out in the hallway than in the classroom.
Mrs. Brown had to select 10 of her best students to do a writing seminar. All of the schools nearby had to choose their best students.
I was not one of them.
And yet, I held out hope I would be selected.
My name was never announced. I remember that moment clearly.
Until, one day, Mrs. Brown took me aside and told me one of the girls she selected could not go and asked if I would like to go instead.
Keep in mind, I think my grade was well below passing in her class by the time I was done, but she saw something in my writing, something in my words.
It was on that day, 30 years ago, in a writing seminar, that a storyteller wearing a colourful jacket showed me the genius of a good story. This is what I would do for the world. That was 1994.
That writing seminar's storyteller's name is long forgotten. But not Mrs. Brown. She put me in a place I did not belong, if you looked at me at face value. Though I would take the long way to get back to this, here I am.
I tell stories for a living. My story is one of not belonging, not of victimhood. I look upon the world as a one-year-old might. I imagine that fateful day when I died at age one, I opened my eyes and looked up at the world again, and it felt like this.
Mrs. Brown was one of many women who got me safely to where I am, here, sitting down typing this out for you to read. That it was ok to take a risk. That one day I would learn that on the other side of fear are great gifts that can change lives.
Find your Mrs. Brown.
Get to know David
Who or what inspires you and why?
Music. Like a good story, a great song can transport not just your mind, but also your soul.
What do you enjoy most about living on the East Coast?
The friendliness, holding of doors, the person paying for your coffee ahead of you and the clean air.
What do you consider your greatest achievement?
I do not like to dwell on achievements; however, I would pick the future achievement of my first book that's been rattling around in my head for the last two years.
What is your motto?
"Something can always be done about it." If I could help anyone understand this, I know their life would just be better.
What is your favourite wintertime activity on the East Coast?
Skiing! Thanks to my daughter who spent an entire ski season with me on the bunny hill.
Who are your favourite writers?
Stephen King. However, I don't read a lot of fiction, so his book "On Writing" is a favourite because it showed me what I can do to be a writer when I doubt myself.
Can you share a recent event or experience that gives you hope for positive change?
I just spent two weeks in New Zealand and saw how much Indigenous culture is infused in life there. I think this is something that can happen in my lifetime here in Canada, and I am working on things that can be done.
What advice would you give your future self?
Stop thinking so much and keep things simple. Whoever that person is around you trying to make it complicated, walk away.
Where can people connect with you?
Website: firstnationsstorytellers.com
Facebook: @FirstNationsStorytellers
Instagram: @first_nations_storytellers
This was death.
I knew it as a ten-year old when I lost the only mother I knew. I knew it as a one-year-old laying on the floor lifeless. This click of the mouse was final. When I awake in the morning, I told myself, things will be different.
It wouldn't be until June 1, six months after that click, that I would open my mouth and speak my story for the first time, in front of 80 strangers: Front line team members in the tourism industry. The jaggedness of my speech, uncertainty of my demeanour and awkward laughs were telling.
Some people go to school to do what I do. They study for hours, weeks, months and years. For this to work, I had to be bold.
In my teens I knew I would be a writer, just knew it. But life got a hold of me in the form of a headset and computer mouse.
My storytelling days were never to be.
I was what they called a 60s Scoop victim. Being in a place where one does not belong was my story. There was a time when the people of this land did not want me to grow up to be what I am becoming.
See, I was taken away from my family at age one and adopted by a wonderful family. They cared for me as best as they could, however, they could never account for one thing: my mind was still Indigenous, with Indigenous needs.
There were a few in my past who saw this. Mrs. Brown for instance. She taught my creative writing class in grade 10. I was the worst student you can imagine, spending more days out in the hallway than in the classroom.
Mrs. Brown had to select 10 of her best students to do a writing seminar. All of the schools nearby had to choose their best students.
I was not one of them.
And yet, I held out hope I would be selected.
My name was never announced. I remember that moment clearly.
Until, one day, Mrs. Brown took me aside and told me one of the girls she selected could not go and asked if I would like to go instead.
Keep in mind, I think my grade was well below passing in her class by the time I was done, but she saw something in my writing, something in my words.
It was on that day, 30 years ago, in a writing seminar, that a storyteller wearing a colourful jacket showed me the genius of a good story. This is what I would do for the world. That was 1994.
That writing seminar's storyteller's name is long forgotten. But not Mrs. Brown. She put me in a place I did not belong, if you looked at me at face value. Though I would take the long way to get back to this, here I am.
I tell stories for a living. My story is one of not belonging, not of victimhood. I look upon the world as a one-year-old might. I imagine that fateful day when I died at age one, I opened my eyes and looked up at the world again, and it felt like this.
Mrs. Brown was one of many women who got me safely to where I am, here, sitting down typing this out for you to read. That it was ok to take a risk. That one day I would learn that on the other side of fear are great gifts that can change lives.
Find your Mrs. Brown.
Get to know David
Who or what inspires you and why?
Music. Like a good story, a great song can transport not just your mind, but also your soul.
What do you enjoy most about living on the East Coast?
The friendliness, holding of doors, the person paying for your coffee ahead of you and the clean air.
What do you consider your greatest achievement?
I do not like to dwell on achievements; however, I would pick the future achievement of my first book that's been rattling around in my head for the last two years.
What is your motto?
"Something can always be done about it." If I could help anyone understand this, I know their life would just be better.
What is your favourite wintertime activity on the East Coast?
Skiing! Thanks to my daughter who spent an entire ski season with me on the bunny hill.
Who are your favourite writers?
Stephen King. However, I don't read a lot of fiction, so his book "On Writing" is a favourite because it showed me what I can do to be a writer when I doubt myself.
Can you share a recent event or experience that gives you hope for positive change?
I just spent two weeks in New Zealand and saw how much Indigenous culture is infused in life there. I think this is something that can happen in my lifetime here in Canada, and I am working on things that can be done.
What advice would you give your future self?
Stop thinking so much and keep things simple. Whoever that person is around you trying to make it complicated, walk away.
Where can people connect with you?
Website: firstnationsstorytellers.com
Facebook: @FirstNationsStorytellers
Instagram: @first_nations_storytellers