Nothing is more honest than lycra

If you want to finally be very aware of  your baldness, attend a convention of Native Americans. There are some very pretty people here, and then there's me, so very white, so very maneless.  I don't know how I got this job, liaison to most of the tribal nations in America, but I can hear someone in some high up place perusing through photos and saying, "him, that's the guy...we need to show the Indians that the conquering race is vulnerable, but still large and consuming."   So here I am, at the Native American Journalists Convention, and no one seems to give a darn what I am.  I just try to listen and learn as much as possible (and my wife just laughed), and I tell you, there's so many assumptions from so many parties that I think we all need to redo that original Thanksgiving dinner.  I don't know what they talked about then...

"Mary...this is Runs with Wolves, Runs with Wolves, Mary.  Now lets put our heads down to pray.  Mary...we're looking down now, not at the well-muscled fellow with the piercing eyes and perfect skin...Mary....OK...could someone get Mr. Wolves a blanket?"

But we need to talk again.  Many tribal nations only make the news because of the 80% unemployment, or the suicide rate, or the alcoholism or the such and such anniversary of something about Russell Means.  I meet people who live in the poorest nation within our nation, and they still have hope.  Many tribes are working on renewable energy, and there are even more who are working night and day to preserve their culture while ensuring their children can step off the reservation and succeed in the biggest cities.  

And here's something to keep in mind: Native Americans aren't simply Native Americans.  They're Navajo, Kiowa, they're the Rocky Boys, Paiute--Cui-ui, Koop Ticutta and Toi Ticutta, to name a few Paiute--Kickapoo, Cherokee and 550 other tribes officially recognized by the federal government.   So you think you now what you're doing but you don't.  You have a great conversation with one person and you terrify the next with your warm greeting.  

This all went down with my naked pate shouting about the room.  The Hyatt has mirrors everywhere, and if there's a place that's the furthest place from being outdoors, it's a hotel ballroom, where the vibrancy of noise and enthusiasm is swallowed in a giant of sock of carpet and textured wallpaper.   You could get more acoustical bounce if you yelled into a pillow.  So in the muffled chatter of today's events, I would drift and see myself in the mirror, and see just how different I am.  I am the minority, at least in the Hyatt, and maybe Albuquerque, where my white head orbits like a full moon.  And I felt self-conscious and a little large and awkward.  Mirrors are bad for me anyway because I've never stopped seeing myself as the 19-year-old me, which means a lot of shock every morning and days full of running into walls and door frames and tables that at one point offered much more clearance.  

Here's the weird part; people who feel self-conscious often say they feel naked.  I didn't.  It was worse.  I was wearing lycra.  And every nuance, every crevice and fold were magnified.  My body language seemed out of my control and larger than it was.  A lifted finger was taunting wag, a weight shift was a irreverent booty shake.  It made it hard to move.

But it helped with being humble.