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I was an Indian without a tribe, stuck in the Oakland Housing Projects with only a maternal compass to guide me. Dios te bendiga, Mijo, my mother would say placing her hand on my forehead each day, asking God to bless me. I could feel her medicine, her energy, and her hope for me enter my body, fill my soul, and warm the cold. This was Her Blessing Way, praying for my protection in her absence, warning me of all the dangers. There were many dangers for an Indian boy in 1950s Apartheid Oakland, a reflection of Apartheid America. This is a story of raising children in a country that hated US, a story of how my mother fought to protect her Native son, a story of how she WON! This is an example of a common Native struggle; native mothers protecting their children, during and after The Indian Wars. This is about the generational trauma from The Indian Wars and the wounded soul of an Indian boy, growing up to be a Warrior in response to that war against our humanity.