Look out for the Indians*
This is a story about my mom. There is no particular reason for telling it other than it is a family favorite and I want to make sure it is captured in print as family lore.
I seem to tell more stories about my mom than I do of my dad. My dad was a remarkable man, incredibly smart, strong, and trustworthy. He was just a solid guy. Mom was the Lucy to his Ricky. Dad was interesting, mom was a hoot (GIYP.)
My father was a Chemical Engineer and the family moved wherever his job demanded. In the 1940’s it took them to Tulsa, Oklahoma. They had a small farm on the outskirts of the city, where they had horses and for spare cash they raised and sold vegetables that were grown in a “hydroponic” green house, one of the first in the country.
When they moved to Oklahoma, mom and dad were invited to a small “getting to know you” gathering. Mom struck up a conversation with one of her new neighbors.
“So, we are from back east, where are you from.”
“Oh…my family has been in Oklahoma for over one hundred years.”
“Oh my goodness, how exciting. I can’t imagine how it was as an early pioneer. It must have been so difficult. Weren’t they afraid of the Indians?”
“Oh I don't think so Ma’am; they were the Indians.”
That was the end of the story as my mom always told it. I am sure she laughed and was not the least bit embarrassed.
I expect her “Indian” neighbor thought she was a hoot; everyone else did.
*feel free to substitute "Native American" if you wish...it just does not work the same for me.
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