Indian Time - A Voice from the Eastern Door

A tribute to Bruce Jackson

Quite often the measure of a man is measured in quantities of brute strength and muscle. Lost in these measurements is the true value and measure of a man, his love. As taken aback as some masculine types may be by this statement, I assure you, testosterone aside love, is the reason you yourself is here in the first place.

Bruce Jackson was laid to rest last week and an entire community came together to celebrate the life of THE greatest man Akwesasne has ever had the pleasure of meeting. His love for his family, country and community were always on display and available for the whole to see. It was evident in his service in Vietnam, where he was a hero in the most trying of situations, war. It was evident in his service to his community, when he served as a police officer multiple times. Evident in his contribution to fellow servicemen as commander of the American Legion. But of all this, he showed his greatest strength and test as a man in his dedication to his family.

Bruce did not have to adopt my brother Watis and I, but he chose to. Not only did he welcome us sad cases into his home, he made a choice to keep us siblings together and not have us be separated by the court and family services system. He was adamant about keeping that bond strong between brothers. He understood the importance of not trekking through this life alone.

Often I wonder what my life would be like if I had never known my brothers love and attribute the fact that I had it to the idea that Bruce fought tirelessly to keep us together. This wasn’t your typical run of the mill case, Bruce was not related to us, therefore did not have a familial obligation to take on the burden of my biological parents’ shortcomings. He did it out of love.

Love like that can’t be bought in stores or seen in a Ryan Gosling or Sandra Bullock movie. That kind of love was born in him and molded in the trenches of a foreign country fighting for our freedom fresh out of high school. It was born in him when he met my mother Linda. That love still carries its legacy in my siblings’ children and my children. He taught an entire generation of us “Jacksons” how to love. If I could be just half the man he was, I am still miles away from half with the choices I have made in my life, I would be honored. In the end, he showed us all, that a true man is not measured by his capacity to turn a wrench, working 60 hours or shoveling snow, but his ability to love. However, he’d be the first one to call you a ”wuss” if you couldn’t turn a wrench, work 60 hours or shovel snow. We will all miss you Rakeni. Mourn ya till we join ya.

By Robert Sawatis