I was tired and felt out of place. Just the night before I had been sipping a bottle of beer and talking about Native Americans. I was trying like the devil to remember where my grandmother had been born – someplace in Oklahoma was basically all I knew. A tall American Indian named Sidney sat down beside me at the bar and we talked and laughed and swapped stories. It got to be too late to drive home – I do remember that. I booked a room for two and in the morning, I was still a little befuddled.
Me and Sidney checked out of the motel and off we went with Sidney at the wheel. We talked about the Pacific Northwest and I supplied all that I knew. After a long pleasant day and a number of beers I crawled into the back seat and went to sleep. I had been overworked for the last week and a half. Too many things to do and too many things to be concerned about but still my mind had been made up . . . I just couldn’t remember what my mind was made up about, nor why.
In the car, we seemed to making good time. My mind was clearing up and it was a beautiful day. I simply asked Sidney, “How we doing?” The driver’s long black hair was flying in the wind from the open window. “Oh, fantastic,” my driving friend said as he shook his head to the beat of the music on the CD player. “I’d like to be relieved of duty here, however, and take in a rest stop area before we get to Salt Lake City.” I nodded my head and rubbed my eyes when I kept repeating to myself the words Salt Lake City, which just did not seem quite right. I simply asked, “Where is this Salt Lake City? Is this a new version of Salt Lake?” Hoping we were just on the way to Ocean Shores and the driver was making a joke.”
Sidney reached up and adjusted the rear-view mirror. He took one look at me in the mirror and said, “I think we need to talk.” After bitching, swearing, and the serious look of the long haired one, we pulled over at the next rest stop. I learned that “All my trials, Lord would not soon be over.” It seemed that my mind went wild with dreams, achievements, friendship, and a cloudy past of mixed heritage.
Now sober, but still interested and wondering, I shared an old family story of my great grandfather with Sidney, about a real cowboy and our Indian bloodline, of deserting my grandmother, leaving my aunt and my mother alone and penniless with her in Oklahoma – while he ran off to Hollywood to become a cowboy film star – a little over a hundred years ago.
Sidney just shrugged his shoulders and said “In for a penny, in for a pound.” I looked at him and said, “What the heck does that mean?” Sidney responded and said, “We are already aimed toward Oklahoma. Why not see what we can find out? Let’s do it!”
A week and a half later we returned to Washington. We had found out absolutely nothing about my great grandad, but we had some fine times with several Oklahoma tribes. I looked at Sidney and said, “Well, I had a great time. Your people loved you. I was hoping for more information from you about tribes and perhaps your tribal connections between Oklahoma and Tacoma as well as your tribal history. But I had a great time” Sidney looked at me and said, “My tribal history? I’m a white boy from Wisconsin. My grandparents are from Australia! I just moved to Tacoma a few weeks ago!”
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