I am an American Indian :: Personal Narrative

I am an American IndianMy support has been put before me like a movie the al-Quran unfolds and guides me through every stage, each act. I was born into an Indian world. From the beginning, I shared with my family, my mothers family. My father had left my mother, who is 5/8 California Indian, soon after I was born. I grew up with pop out a real father, and only recently have I realized how a lot I hate that fact. I was born in the hallway of a hospital in the Bay Area. Even then it seems that I cherished to do things my way. It was the beginning of my strangely unique life. Many of the things that have happened to me gravid like a story from the mind of a lunatic. I recollect the best times were spent with my sister and my mother when I was most four or five and we lived in Truckee. Bridgette was doing cartwheels on the lawn and she got bee-stings on her hand and feet. Dad was gone by then and we lived in Village park nation in the trailer. One morning mom told us t hat Indians never went out looking for eggs and that Easter is really supposed to be intimately this guy named Jesushe died, or was born, or came back to life or something important like that on that day a wide time ago. We colored eggs anyway for fun. I was very bigmouthed and strong headedfriends with everyone. Old Gladys and Ernie lived next door to my grandparents, just down the alley from us in Village Green. I would catch Ernie when he came phratry from working in the woods with my grandpa and I would see if he salvage me any goodies from his eat. I would eat anything. He usually saved me something sweet maybe Gladys knew and put it in his black metal lunch box just for me. Those are secrets that I will never know. They passed remote with Gladys a few years ago, probably earlier since she had developed Alzheimers disease. The old folksthey sometimes take it with them. The trailer park was not near a reservation Washos never got a recognized land base when they were pushed out of their homeland.