In Utah, dark-haired people stand out. All my life there I was frequently asked "what" I was. My answer was always: "Native American." But then I usually added: "And Scottish and Welsch." People always nodded and replied with, "Of course, I can definitely see the Indian!" What I failed to tell them was that I was only about 1/32 Native American ... and it came from my light-haired, blue-eyed mother's side. The Welsch and Scottish blood was quite a bit thicker. But that Pocahontas obsession I had as a kid seemed to leave a lasting impression on me, and I told people that throughout high school as well.
It appears that that microscopic bit of Indian blood has been passed on to my son, however. Though his hair isn't dark enough for anyone to be curious about "what" he is, the second he opens his mouth you'll hear it. Mac speaks just like the stereo-typical, cartoon version of the Native American. Please read the following sayings in a gruff, staccato voice and you'll get it:
- "Dad. Hit ball."
- "I throw. Big big rock!"
- "Mommy. Cracker, Mac. Please"
- "Blocks. Now. Big big tower. Up high. Boom! Fall down."
He really does have a decent vocabulary, but none of the filler words yet. But for the most part, he speaks quite clearly and most people can understand him.
Of course I don't want him to be talking like this in high school ... but it's a little bit precious. I don't want him to grow out of it for a while.
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