While at the doctor’s office recently, I was filling out forms when I happened upon a question that seemed to be more of a test than an inquiry. “Best describe your ethnicity: White, Hispanic, African-American, Native American, other. Circle one.”
Of course, I became perplexed. Going back to my school daze days, I used the elimination process I was taught back when. I’m not Hispanic, and I wasn’t brought to this country from Africa. Although I look “White” as a Caucasian, I felt “Native American” fit the answer to this question, best.
My sainted wife – I often call her ‘Hawk,’ because of her sharp-eyed scrutiny of my every action – did a double take and quickly pointed out that I was not – NOT – a Native American.
“Native Americans are Indians!” she insisted.
Once again, I reverted to my school daze days and pensively recalled Indians being people whose skins were reddish in color. They were often the opponents in western movies and TV shows that featured cowboys and Indians.
Indians wore loin cloths and adorned their hair with feathers, their skin with war paint, carrying bows and arrows and tomahawks to better dispatch their foes.
Somewhere in elementary school we learned about The Battle of Little Bighorn. In 1867, General George Custer – known as an “Indian Fighter” - and 700 soldiers were stationed in The Montana Territory, many of whom were massacred by thousands of Indians from several Indian tribes.
Then, I recalled my high school mascot was an Indian warrior; our team was named the Red Raiders. Nobody mistook this imaginary figure for someone from New Delhi, but rather as an honoree depicting strength and determination that depicted our sports teams.
Somewhere along the way, politically correct whiners insisted this representation of virility and fortitude needed to be put to rest and history re-written. The Indians were re-engineered to be portrayed as devout custodians of the land and lovers of all men who crossed their paths. But, I digress.
Native American, as a description for my ethnicity, although I never raised a Bowie knife or wore paint on my face, seemed to fit the bill.
After all, a person born in Italy is a native Italian, a person born in Mexico is a native Mexican, and a person born in Australia is a native Australian. Therefore, I am a Native American.
It is too bad the politically correct crowd didn’t learn history and English. It is also a shame we may have to change the name of that children’s game to ‘Cowboys and Native Americans.”
