It was the Fourth of July, the day the United States celebrates its independence.  This night brought me back to a brief time in my life when I did not have a care in the world.  Summers were giddy affairs riding my Big Wheel, climbing trees, smelling freshly mown grass, and listening to the sound of cicadas.  Anything was possible.  I want to extend that as long as I can for my child.  When I was young my father had a bad accident after being forced to work in dangerous conditions.  Things became more and more difficult after that.  My parents tried to shield me but I knew.  I was so sheltered and yet very aware of harsh reality.  I learned first hand how people treat others who are rich and how the poor are treated.  I have met people without a lick of common sense who are wealthy and I have met some truly brilliant people who are poor.  Why does society equate money with success?  I grew up strong and secure in a loving family and we were truly happy.  No one was drinking or popping pills despite terrible hardship.  Another adjustment in my life came when I learned my grandmother was Choctaw.  I became angry.  Angry with a white society that had for centuries devalued that particular race of people more than any other.  It is a duality I have yet to fully accept — neither wolf nor dog.  Once I asked my daddy how he could celebrate the Fourth.  He turned his vivid, dark blue eyes on me and said his grandfather escaped from Germany hidden in a pig boat during the war.  My father fought in Korea for eight years and was awarded with distinction without once bragging about it.  But he was proud to be American and especially proud to be an American Indian veteran.  Not many realize the original “Code Talkers” were actually Choctaw, beginning their service in World War I.  The Navajo Code Talkers’ invaluable contributions helped us win World War II.  For years I have watched in awe at pow wows’ Grand Entries, heard the Flag Songs of many different (Indian) nations, and have seen the pride on the Native American faces who have served in the United States military.  My child may be more Caucasian than American Indian but she will still know her history, and the history of her people.  On this carefree night I thought deeply about our nation’s past and how I will begin to gently start presenting it to my child.  As I watched her happily playing with these lit necklaces I decided there are some things that can wait.  I am teaching her Indian ways most whites know nothing about, but right now I think that is all she needs to know.  The American singer Katy Perry’s hit “Firework” was playing as the fireworks began.  My daughter loves this song.  Among the song’s lyrics it says, “‘Cause baby you’re a firework; Come on show them what you’re worth.”  I thought it was so fitting.  My baby is a firework — and she will let her colors burst.