Editors Note: On January 25, 2025, the American Indian Library Association (AILA) held its Youth Literature Award Ceremony in Phoenix. I am pleased to share the remarks Christine Day delivered when she received the American Indian Youth Literature Award in the middle school category for We Still Belong.
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AIYLA Medal Acceptance Remarks
Christine Day
Good morning, everyone. It’s a beautiful day to be here, to share space with you all in this incredible venue, and to celebrate the immense talent and diversity of our Native kid lit community.
For those of you who don’t know me: Hi. I’m Christine. I’m a citizen of the Upper Skagit Tribe, which is one of the signatories of the Treaty of Point Elliott in western Washington State. My maternal grandmother, Lorraine, was Upper Skagit and Nooksack. She was also a teenager when she carried my mother. Lorraine spent part of her pregnancy in a group home for unwed mothers in Seattle. And while she was there, she wrote letters to her family. Most of her letters recounted ordinary things, such as her math and world history lessons, and she often asked after the wellbeing of her younger siblings. But sometimes, her writings would reveal the way things were in that home. In one letter, postmarked August 29 th , 1960, she wrote: “Hi! I hope all of you are fine, I’m doing okay… I didn’t call because most of this week the girls have got into trouble for using the telephone too much, and some of the girls had their telephone privileges taken away… We have phone monitors to time each girl on the telephone, so all of us girls can talk five minutes. If we take over five minutes, we get called down to the housemother and she gives the girl an hour of work for talking over time on the telephone. I thought if I called you, I would’ve probably talked over five minutes, so I didn’t call…” I had a similar thought when I was writing this speech, actually. Is it possible for me to acknowledge my people in only five-to-seven minutes? Don’t know. We’ll see.
Anyway. Her letter continues: “There are about twenty girls coming here at the end of this month, and it's crowded already. Some of the girls that are new are sleeping on the davenport… The ages that we have here are 13, 14, 15, 16, and all the way up to 33 years old. All the girls are nice to me and I get along with everybody. I still have a good record, haven’t got into trouble at all, and I’m going to keep it that way. Well, I hope everybody’s okay. I hope everybody’s fine. I have to get ready for bed now, and I’ll write sooner if I’m not too busy, tell everybody I said hello. Tell all the kids I said hello. Lots of Love, Lorraine.”
My mother was born in September of 1960. But unfortunately, the Indian Child Welfare Act would not pass in Congress until 1978. Therefore, my mother spent the first six months of her life in an orphanage, despite the fact that she wasn’t technically an orphan. And during those six months, she had no legal name. Someone at some point gave her the nickname “Christy.” But when her adoptive parents came along, her new mother opted for “Susan,” because she already had a cousin named Christy, whom she did not like. Which is fair enough, I suppose.
And that is how I came to be Christine. My parents chose it in honor of my mother’s first nickname. And they gave me Lorraine, as my middle name, in honor of my mom’s young birth mother, whom we never got to meet.
So, all my life, I have carried these women and their stories with me. This is part of the reason why I write the books that I write. It’s also one of the reasons why this award means so much to me. Because the American Indian Youth Literature Award committee isn’t only honoring me: you have chosen to honor them, as well. Lorraine and Sue, their stories are separate yet inseparable from mine, like three strands of the same braid. I would not be here without them. And through my writing, I always strive to pay tribute to them. So I’d like to thank you all, truly, for seeing something worth recognizing in my work.
Additional thanks are due to my team at the Heartdrum imprint. Rosemary Brosnan couldn’t join us today, which makes me sad, because I miss her. But alas. Here is what I’d planned to say to her: Rosemary, seven years ago, you changed my life with your belief in me. Thank you for your enthusiasm, your guidance, your patience, and your profound respect for the creative process. I am so grateful to call you my friend, as well as my trusted editor and mentor. Cynthia Leitich Smith, I am deeply grateful for your kindness and friendship as well, and your dedication to building community and bringing folks together. I am incredibly proud to be a Heartdrum author.
I also need to thank my team at the Philomel imprint. Thank you for granting me the opportunity to share Maria Tallchief’s life story with young readers. I’m grateful to Chelsea Clinton for creating the She Persisted series. Thanks to Jill Santopolo and Talia Benamy for their wonderful editorial work. Thanks to Gillian Flint for her beautiful illustrations. And thanks to the Osage Nation Language Department, for providing some text in their syllabary.
And of course, I need to acknowledge my husband and kids. Every book I write is also a love letter to you. You are the light that brings the dawn. You are my whole world.
Thank you all again for being here. I’ve heard rumors that this will be the last ALA midwinter conference, which I find a bit shocking and sad. But alas. One of my favorite quotes of all time comes from the book Pachinko, by Min Jin Lee. It’s the very first sentence, which says: “History has failed us, but no matter.” What a line. What a revelation, really. And it feels especially true for those of us ensconced in the world of children’s literature. Either in schools and libraries, or as parents and writers.
History has failed us, but no matter. May we stay attuned to our own creativity and curiosity and empathy. May we strive to honor our ancestors, and empower our descendants. May we write and share the books that want to be written. And may we uplift all children, everywhere, by doing so.
Thank you.
