Traditionally, grammar textbooks are about as exciting as military memos— and read about as often. Reading them is laborious to such an extreme that the reader could conclude that the Prussians are responsible for all linguistic studies. American Indian languages have suffered the fate of all tongues in that when scholars finish with them, they are fit for neither man nor beast. This book shatters the usual image of grammars to such a degree that future scholars may well adopt its format and style. People often forget that language is a creation of people, of communities, and of the interplay between and among members of families and the people who interact with them. Thus, the formality that has been given to languages does not exist in real life. People not only "break" the rules of grammar, but also rarely heed them, preferring instead to communicate with others. Puns, double entendres, and shortcut phraseology mark conversations in all cultures, although to view the renditions by scholars one would not believe it. Albert White Hat reverses the traditional method of explaining language by showing through examples, anecdotes and lessons on the world view, and values of the Brule Lakota, how people speak and think. He takes the proper and only correct step to help our understanding of this language by showing that "abstract concepts" are abstract primarily to people who study languages as if they were multiplication tables. Once the words and phrases are seen in the context of people's social lives, however, language comes naturally it flows, and it educates and incorporates the reader into the community. The Sioux people love language. Always known as great orators, we delight in turning a phrase that pinpoints the target. Indeed, the great thing about lan- guage is that, with a slight change in pronunciation, allusions can be made that simply could not exist in other languages. When I was young, my father de- lighted in storytelling because he was particularly skilled in turning phrases. He eagerly looked forward to meetings where the real old masters of the language chatted so he could hear the latest twist that had been devised. We had a new priest at Mission, South Dakota—pretty close to where Albert White Hat has spent his life—and this priest was always after the people to "give him an Indian name." He was a scrawny little man and his clerical collar was too large for his neck, so it always looked like his collar was a life preserver. One day he more or less demanded that he be given the name "Little Bear" because he said that, while he was small, he had the heart of a bear. So people consulted in Lakot a, and my father decided to call him "Ma o nija" When translated, this name did not exactly come out "Little Beaif but was "shriveling" or "shrinking" bear—because he looked like he was shrinking into his clerical clothes. Of course the people were polite to his face when he proudly told them his Sioux name, and he never thought to look back as he left a group to determine whether he had impressed them. Now, Albert White Hat has created a grammar that takes the reader inside the community slang and puns so we can enjoy this kind of linguistic play that is so charactersitic of our people. This book, therefore, may be truly called the first real people's" grammar. It is the language that real people use in their daily lives. Albert's stories and teachings saturate the reader with the life of our people so that the words and phrases come to have an existence of their own. The book is a joy to read even if you don't want to learn the language. This book is truly a masterpiece. VINE DELORIA JR. Editor's Preface The collaboration between Albert White Hat Sr., and me began while I was studying at Yale University. Drawn to western American history as an undergrad- uate, I wanted to better understand my own identity as a fourth generation Mon- tanan. As I studied the cultural biases of anthropologists and historians attempt- ing to understand Indian people, I longed to hear more Native American voices in this debate. Phil Deloria, a doctoral candidate at the time, suggested that I spend a summer on the Rosebud Reservation. He recommended I attend a summer in- stitute sponsored by Si t e Gle k a University. He didn't know much about the program, but suggested I go, if for no other reason than to meet Albert. That summer a new world opened to me. I witnessed—and experienced first- hand—the prejudices between Indians and non-Indians, mixed bloods and full bloods, traditionalists and Christians. I saw the profound impact such judgments have on a culture. Simultaneously I received unconditional compassion and kind- ness from new friends. I was humbled by their ability to rise above the rugged history we both inherited and to embrace me as a relative. By the end of the summer, Rosebud had changed me. I could not simply re- turn to my old world and perspective. Once back east, I missed Lakota insight into American history, but I also missed my Lakota friends. They had taught me that the only true gift human beings have to offer is ourselves and time. In thanksgiving for that summer, I offered to Albert the skills I learned as a student at a traditional western university: the ability to write and do research. Without hesitation, Albert accepted my offer, saying he wanted help writing down his language. I returned to Rosebud in the summer of 1992 to help Albert document a Lakota-developed orthography. Neither Albert nor I ever imagined that five pages of oral drills handwritten on yellow legal paper would mark the beginning of a six-year project culminating in the publishing of this book. Given our visible differences in nationality gender, and age, it seemed like an unlikely journey. Though there were definitely times when we struggled with our differences, ultimately our differences complemented each other. My zeal was tempered by Albert's wisdom and patience. Our desire was to combine our creative skills by capitalizing on the strengths of both cultures' approach to language learning. In June of 1993, I moved to Rosebud and began helping Albert full time to "organize his curriculum" As I transcribed Albert's lessons onto the computer, I also recorded and edited his stories, neither of us sure how the two would fit into one document, ln time, it became clear that a synthesis of approaches was essen- tial. The stories complemented the grammar and the grammar reflected the sto- ries. To leave the stories out would be to repeat the mistake of earlier scholars in presenting Lak ot a as a dead language. When Albert and I reached this stage, we knew we were doing more than just "organizing a curriculum" It was exciting to witness the impact the creation of this text had on Albertfe teaching. He would see his own words and thoughts embodied on paper, and pieces would start to come together in new ways. He would say "This works well, JaeL But it makes me realize that we also need to include a lesson of this other concept." Or, more commonly, in my reorganizing I would get something wrong. Albert would sometimes laugh at my naive errors. Because I was not a Lakot a scholar, I looked at lessons through the eyes of a future student. If I be- came confused, it was likely that another student would make the same mistake. Albert and I would discuss the wording in the explanation and work to find a way to resolve the confusion. Sometimes Albert would come to the office having mulled over a lesson. He would tell me what was puzzling him and ask me to research other written sources. While I researched the written word, Albert would talk to other Lakot a teachers. In a couple of days I would present what I found and Albert would go through the material, sorting through the strengths and weaknesses of the other authors' approaches. "Jael, I remember Elder men saying it this way but I don't like how this author explains it in English. Hefe almost right, but the grammar needs to be explained more simply. And he doesn't talk about Lakot a philosophy. He makes it sound dead" Often we would draft a lesson and expect to revise it while Albert did more thinking. I feel blessed by my time on Rosebud. Though I have returned to my home state, Rosebud remains my touchstone, reminding me that celebrating diversity is not a theoretical, liberal concept, but a practical reality. I have two families now: my family of origin, which has graciously accepted sharing me, and my Rosebud family. May my efforts bring honor to both. Introduction Language is vital to Lakot a culture. It is our bloodline. History has demon- strated that how we handle our language and how we develop it can cause the Lakot a people to grow or it can destroy us. Two hundred years ago, the language built us up to a point where we were a progressive and strong people. Within 200 years, the misuse of the language almost destroyed us. It is time the Lakot a language returns as a vehicle of empowerment. This text is my contribution. It is based on personal experience, and the struc- ture relies heavily on oral history. Translations I present and stories I tell are con- troversial.