I’m not a very good Indian.
Maybe even a bad Indian.

My cheekbones aren’t high enough
I don’t have enough beadwork
Or turquoise
I do my best to celebrate November like a month long birthday for Indians
For those of you who don’t know, which is probably most of you
It’s National Native American Heritage Month
And unfortunately celebrating feels like I’m celebrating my birthday by myself
No one seems to know it’s even happening
Even with the Facebook notices

I’m a bad Indian

My favorite movie genre is westerns
My last name isn’t a sentence
I’m not patient
But I am stoic
Usually only when I'm mad
Or just thinking really hard
People don’t know how to pronounce the name of my Tribe
And that makes me tired
Can’t and won’t say prayers in Paiute
Mostly because I’m not fluent
But I tell everyone they should hear our words
It reminds me, there was this one time when a teacher used to ask me things that I didn't know
Or she didn't know
Assuming that I would know
Only to see disappointment when I didn't know
And shame on me for not knowing
But she didn't know either!

But I’m a bad indian.

I use the word “Indian” liberally
I get it
it’s not correct
That dude that sailed the ocean blue mistakenly called us that because he thought he was in India.
of course he wasn’t.
But there is this other thing were the word “Indian” actually has a legal precedence
In treaties
And in the so-called founding documents
Written by so-called founding fathers
I get criticized by my own people for saying “Indian”
Without anyone really realizing that any word used to lump us into a single group is incorrect
I was told to speak in a language they understand.

I’m a bad Indian.

I don’t speak pidgin English
I mean, certainly not as good as Johnny Depp in the movie that one time
When someone tells me that their great great grandma was a Cherokee princess
I immediately want to dismantle what they’re saying
After I roll my eyes
There are no Cherokee Princesses
There are no Native American monarchies
And then I’m a bad Indian for wanting to dismantle their blood myths
When you are the one who taught me to dismantle in the first place
I learned it through my genetic memory and my personal memory

I’m just a bad Indian.

There was a woman once who asked me what my "Indian" name was
I said, "It’s Gregg"
And she was so disappointed!
She was like, “NO! No! It has to be Red Eagle or Two Rivers”
“Or ‘Grey Skull’” I said
“YES! Wait, is that for real?!”
“No, no” I said, without her realizing my brief but generationally relevant He-Man joke
The kind of joke that would tell her that while Indian
I’m also having an American experience too
I finally said to her “How about ‘Walking Eagle’”
She said, “Yes! Yes! But is that true?”
I said, “Yes, it’s totally true”
I didn't have the heart to tell her that the only time an eagle walks is when it’s too full of shit to fly

Because I'm a bad Indian

I don’t know how to ride a horse
Or string a bow and arrow
I know you want me to raise my hand and say “HOW”
But you don’t want me to tell you that
HOA is a Lakota greeting but it’s not spelled differently
Not the same as
HOW…are you doing
That information sharing makes me a bad Indian
How dare I inform your misinformed idea of my own identity
On my homelands?!
The nerve!

Bad Indian

I want to set the stage
This one time a man walked into my space
Asks me questions about my things
I tell him
When he suddenly interrupts me
As only a white man can
With all the euro-swagger of a man who’s people where so sure of their place in the universe
Their place in the world
Their place in the eyes of God
You speak real good for a
Native American
An indian
A savage
A pagan
A prairie n***er
A godless heathen
And I would be justified in punching him
I would be justified in cursing him out
I would be justified in calling him racist

But that would make me a bad Indian
Which contradicts that old saying
You know the one:
The only good Indian is a dead Indian

But I’m a bad indian.
And I’m here.