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I'm a thirteen-year-old-half-breed, a mongrel, according to my mom's father. He's full-blooded Kootenai Indian and I am only half-Indian. My dad's heritage is a mix of Scot, Irish, French and Ger-man. So maybe the old man is right, I am a mongrel, like most Americans, a mix of nationalities. But, with him, it's not a simple fact. It was spoken with disgust and loathing ten years ago and my mother died because of it. My older brother Chris and I hate him.
For ten years, no one heard from the old man and we were fine with that. Then a letter shows up saying he wants me to spend the summer with him. Dad said my mother would have wanted her youngest son to know her people. I fought against it and lost in the end. I always do when it's 'what Mom would have wanted.'
So I'm stuck on the Kootenai-Salish Indian Reservation in northwestern Montana. All I have to do is find his stash of booze and I'll be on my way home.
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