WAMBDI AWICA WA'STEWIN |
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"When you go off to school, you must use your horse sense," my grandfather told me. His wrinkled, leathery hands shook as he paused to roll a cigarette. After a few deep inhalations, he added, "It is those who lose the horse sense of their upbringing that struggle in the world off the reservation. . ." Sitting beside my grandfather, I smoked a cigarette and nodded. He went on to tell me that I must remember my prayers, to go in a good way, and that I was a representative of our People. "Don't forget who you are and where you came from. My granddaughter, you must not leave our traditional ways behind and replace them with the ways of others. Do you understand?" Vigorously, I nodded my head. A strange glint came into his old rheumy eyes as he looked at me. "Granddaughter, what have you done to your hair? It is not in a braid or hanging straight." "I've got it in a ponytail, grandfather." "Oh, my granddaughter. That is not our way. You wear your hair in a pony's tail. Hmm. Tell me, does that make you a horse's ass?" |
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