I am a Native American, but that doesn't mean I jump around to the throb of a .
Tribal drum, or wear animal skins as clothing. I do ear moccasins once an awhile, but I .
prefer my cowboy boots. My hair isn't always braided, nor do I use bear grease to style .
it. I am familiar with my tribe's traditional dances, as well as most modern dances, and I .
studied a ballet for a several years. The points I'm trying to make are I dress, act, and .
talk just as an any human being might. .
It wasn't until the summer after I turned nineteen that I realized there actually .
were people who considered me different or strange or less than equal to most other .
I was on my way by bus, to visit my husband, a Viet name draftee. My excitement at thinking of seeing him was so intense that I was afraid to get off the bus at any of the several stops we made that day, for fear the driver would leave without me. .
Finally, in ogalalla, Nebraska, after hours of confinement, I decided I could get out for a few minutes, at least long enough to get a cup of coffee and stretch my legs. When the bus stopped, I hopped off and headed for the café, savoring the fresh, clear air; such a contrast to the stifling closeness of the bus. As I walked toward the door, the blond, fairskinned man behind the counter scowled at me, shook his head from side to side, and gestured at me go back. Surprised, I asked him if the Café was closed, and he said "No, we just don't serve YOUR kind!- Unsure of what he was implying, I asked him what kind he meant, he replied, shouting, "Okay, you stupid, blanket-ass squaw, I'll spell it out for you .We don't serve Indians here, Okay?-.
Shocked, but still unable to believe he was serious, I started laughing and said, "Well that's al right, I didn't order an Indian. All I want is a cup of coffee, I've been on the bus all day and I'm tired and thirsty. .
By that time, the man so angry he was shaking.