This is a painting of a bunch of people at the trail of tears. I used picnik to edit the picture.
I couldn’t wait for my grandfather to come over. I’ve been counting down the day until he came. And today he was coming. Finally the door bell rang. I sprinted to the door.
“E-du-di” I shouted, “I’m so happy to see you, it’s been so long”
“Yes its been long u-we-tsi–a-ge-yv. How have you been”
“I’m well”
“So how is school going”
“Well in social studies were learning about Andrew Jacks…”
Tears came to my grandfather’s eyes. “Andrew Jackson. Come here u-we-tsi–a-ge-yv, I want to tell you a story.”
We went into the living room. I loved the living room. It was prefect for grandfather’s stories. It had many Cherokee paintings place on its tan wall. It also had a beautiful fireplace. Over the the mantle there was an fascinating head dress.
He sat in the big brown recliner and pated his thighs. I then sat on he lap as he wrapped his warm dark skin around my stomach.
“See that painting right there?” he said pointing to the picture. “The lady is green, that is my grandmother and the litle boy next to her is my father. Do you know what that picture is of?”
“No”
“Well it’s a painting of the trail of tears. In 1540 there was the first European encounter was with the Cherokee Indians. Our culture became corrupt when the Spaniards began mining in our territory for the next hundred years. In 1830 President Jackson issued the Indian Removal Act. It stated: All tribes east of the Mississippi must move to the west, or else they will become citizens of the state they reside in. The Cherokee people didn’t want white people in there land so the white people forced them out at gun point. Thats were there family were buried and the homes where. Not many people survived the trail. The Cherokee people had to start there lives all over again. ”
“What a sad story” I mubled
“Well, honey that was just they way it was.”