The Absolutely True Diary of a Part-Time Indian
They came to our gym, so I wasn't going to get burned at the stake. In fact, my white fans were going to cheer for me like I was some kind of crusading warrior: figure 25.1.
Jeez, I felt like one of those Indian scouts who led the U.S. Cavalry against other Indians. (25.45-25.46)
Townspeople were starting to compare us to the great Reardan teams of the past. People were starting to compare some of our players to great players of the past.
Roger, our big man, was the new Joel Wetzel.
Jeff, our point guard, was the new Little Larry Soliday.
James, our small forward, was the new Keith Schulz.
But nobody talked about me that way. I guess it was hard to compare me to players from the past. I wasn't from the town, not originally, so I would always be an outsider.
And no matter how good I was, I would always be an Indian. (25.34-25.38)
"So, anyway," he said. "I was reading this book about old-time Indians, about how we used to be nomadic."
"Yeah," I said.
"So I looked up nomadic in the dictionary, and it means people who move around, who keep moving, in search of food and water and grazing land."
"That sounds about right."
"Well, the thing is, I don't think Indians are nomadic anymore. Most Indians, anyway."
"No, we're not," I said.
"I'm not nomadic," Rowdy said. "Hardly anybody on this rez is nomadic. Except for you. You're the nomadic one."
"No, I'm serious. I always knew you were going to leave. I always knew you were goin to leave us behind and travel the world. I had this dream about you a few months ago. You were standing on the Great Wall of China. You looked happy. And I was happy for you." (30.176-30.184)