It's Not That Deep

It's Not That Deep

The first thing I noticed when I walked into school was the sound of laughter coming from the cafeteria. My friends were crowded around a table, scrolling through Halloween costume ideas. I dropped my backpack beside them and looked over their shoulders. “Look! We're all going as Indians!” Madison announced, holding up a picture of a costume with a feathered headdress, brown fringe, and face paint. I laughed along with everyone else. At first, I didn't think much of it. I was Native American, but I had never really taken the time to understand my culture's history. My family celebrated certain traditions, but I was more interested in fitting in with my friends than asking questions about where I came from.

“Wait, isn't that kind of offensive?” I asked, half-joking. Madison rolled her eyes. “It's literally just a costume. It's not that deep.” Everyone laughed, and I laughed too. I didn't want to be the person who ruined the mood. A few days later, I walked into history class and noticed a slideshow projected onto the board. It showed old photographs of Native American communities, including images of people being forced from their homes and children being separated from their families. I recognized some of the clothing and cultural symbols from the costume Madison had shown me.

Something didn't sit right. How could something that represented an entire culture, with generations of history behind it, become something people wore for entertainment? That Friday, at the Halloween party, I saw my friends wearing their costumes. Madison had even bought a fake headdress. Everyone was taking pictures, laughing, and posing together. “Come take a picture with us!” she called.

I hesitated. “I'm good,” I answered. Madison frowned. “Why? You were fine with it before.” “I guess I just didn't understand what it meant before,” I said. “Those aren't just decorations. They're connected to real people, traditions, and histories. Some of those traditions are sacred. You wouldn't take something important from someone else's religion and turn it into a joke, so why is this different?”

She crossed her arms. “We're not trying to disrespect anybody. It's just Halloween.” “I know you don't think you're hurting anyone,” I replied. “But not meaning to hurt someone doesn't mean nobody gets hurt.” For a moment, nobody spoke. I realized that my friends weren't necessarily trying to be cruel. They had grown up seeing Native American mascots at sporting events, Halloween costumes in stores, and stereotypical images in movies. To them, it was normal. It was tradition. They saw it as a way to celebrate American culture and school spirit.

But I saw something different. I saw a culture being reduced to a costume, while the people behind it were often ignored. On the drive home, I thought about how little I knew about my own history. I had spent so much time trying to fit into everyone else's world that I had forgotten there was a part of mine worth understanding. That night, I asked my grandmother about our family's traditions. She told me stories about our relatives, our history, and the importance of respecting the things passed down through generations. I listened more closely than I ever had before.

Maybe I had been naive, but I didn't want to stay that way. The following Monday, Madison approached me. “Hey, I looked some stuff up after Friday,” she said. “I didn't realize there was so much history behind it. I'm sorry.” I nodded. “Thank you for actually listening.”

I knew one conversation wouldn't change everyone's opinions, and I wasn't expecting it to. But maybe it could make someone think twice before turning another person's identity into a joke. Because to some people, it might just be a costume, a mascot, or a Halloween party. But to someone else, it's their history, their family, and their identity. And maybe it actually is that deep.