Beading Myself Senseless

My daughter recently received a Native American Bead Loom (made in Taiwan, which apparently was where the Cherokee settled after walking the Trail of Tears) with the noble intent of making friendship bracelets. For those of you who are unfamiliar with them, Friendship Bracelets are basically the Native American equivalent of a Myspace Friend Request.  The big difference is that friendship bracelets generally come from close friends while Myspace Friend Requests generally come from strippers living in the Philippines trying to convince you to pay five bucks to watch their live webcam shows.

In fact it was customary for braves to exchange beaded trinkets on the prairie to signify that Runs with a Limp, Eats Two Desserts, and Writes Potentially Insensitive Native American Names would all remain BFFs long after the buffalo hunt was over. And while I’m certain the tribal elders of old would be pleased to know that the tradition of friendship bracelets continues to this day, I’m not so sure how happy they’d be to find out their honorary custom has been co-opted by nine year old girls.

Assistance in craft detail normally falls in my wife’s domain. After all, these activities require a certain amount of patience, and I’m about as patient as a gorilla chugging six shots of espresso while receiving a prostate exam. My extreme lack of patience first became prevalent during an event that will forever be known as the Mini Blind Incident. I have blocked most of the Mini Blind Incident from memory, but do remember filling in about five drill sized holes (I don’t mean the drillbit… I mean the actual shaft of the drill) around the front window of our house, and no new mini blinds have entered our house since that date.

Regarding the loom, my wife did take the first shot at understanding our daughter’s new bead contraption, but due to the rather sketchy instruction booklet and the impatient daughter in dire need of a trinket to give to her friend on the bus the following day, the task of unraveling the complexities of the Bead Loom fell on my shoulders.

After my first twenty minutes of working with the loom, I fully understood why alcoholism is a rampant problem on reservations. I had barely even managed to get the requisite number of strings spaced out on the loom before I felt like I needed a drink to help take the edge off this menial, frustrating task. With my daughter watching close by I managed to stave off my craving and finally begin the task of sewing beads onto the loom. Sure the first few rows were frustrating, and I may have snuck a few swear words under my breath as a result of trying to feed those tiny beads onto the thread (while minimizing the number of times I jabbed the needle into the pad of my thumb), but I finally got the hang of it.

Three hours later, I finally had a beaded trinket worthy of the friendship between two 9 year old girls. I can’t say that the beading incident has made me a more patient person, but it has given me some perspective on the Native American culture and the importance of the intricate details that go into something as simple as a friendship bracelet.

It’s even given me new insights into important historical events. I used to think that whole Manhattan Island being purchased for 20 some odd dollars of beads was a rip off. After three hours on the bead loom? Totally worth it.