That is kind of you, John. "That which does not kill me makes me stronger." I am luckier by far, than, say, my dad -- who only fifty years ago was being refused service at businesses, with "We don't serve your kind here, boy." I am grateful.
And I surely do not wish to turn this thread into a "Pity Party for the American Indian," but I would like to inject -- the "proud Indian" model just does not "jive" with my own, personal experience in life, though I am appreciative that it does, in others. And that is great.
My experience: sitting on my maternal grandmother's sofa as a child, hearing the OTHER side of the family bitterly say, "They call Claude a 'Damn Injun,' Jenny. They call your pawpaw a 'damn injun.'" It was, incidentally, the one and only time that strong, strong, brave lady ever gave in to it. Otherwise, the prevailing atmosphere was, "Shh. Shh. This is something we do not discuss, EVER. We cover this up, that identity. Not only do they hate you, girl -- they want to exterminate you, as though you were an insect."
She came from a well-to-do Virginia family, with noble lineage going all the way back to the great Lee family, extending even to the first settlements at Jamestown.
When she married the fierce, gorgeous "half-breed," my grandfather, the family essentially shunned her in shame. My grandfather moved them from Virginia, and that is how I came to be here.
Jennifer
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