Cross your legs and sit like a good little Indian, said my Kindergarten Teacher. Stop making so much noise, you are acting like a bunch of wild Indians, said my Grandmother. I watched westerns with my Father, the Indians were impossibly savage or impossibly noble. Growing up Indians were some mysterious other I didn't know or at least I didn't think I knew. My Father's black hair, dark heavy lidded eyes and dark complexion never made me think he was Indian because Indian's were the unknowable other. Why had I not known? Why had he not known?
