"I think Julius is going to go bad," he said.
"No way," I said. "He's just horsing around."
"Maybe, maybe."
“It's hard to be optimistic on the reservation. When a gla** sits on a table here, people don't wonder if it's half filled or half empty. They just hope it's good beer. Still, Indians have a way of surviving. But it's almost like Indians can easily survive the big stuff . Ma** murder, loss of language and land rights . It's the small things that hurt the most. The white waitress who wouldn't take an order, Tonto, the Washington Redskins.
And, just like everybody else, Indians need heroes to help them learn how to survive. But what happens when our heroes don't even know how to pay their bills?
“sh**, Adrian,” I said. “He's just a kid.”
“Ain't no children on a reservation.”
“Yeah, yeah, I've heard that before. Well,” I said. “I guess that Julius is pretty good in school, too.”
“And?”
“And he wants to maybe go to college.”
“Really?”
“Really,” I said and laughed. And I laughed because half of me was happy and half of me wasn't sure what else to do.”