09/18/2026
Every powwow, a white girl in a fringe vest, or dreamcatcher earrings finds me. She's already touched my braid before she says hello. Last summer one comes up to my table and says, "Oh my god, you look like the Chiefs in those old photos. I think you were a Chief in a past life."
I said, "How do you know I'm not a Chief now?"
She went quiet. Respectful quiet. Now I have to keep going, because the alternative is answering real questions about my grandmother.
She asks what my sign is. I tell her we don't do western astrology. We have our own. I was born under the Buffalo Bull Mating Call Moon.
"What month is that?"
"Right after Beaver Eating Birch Moon. Before Otters On Their Backside Moon."
"So, like, May?"
"Sure. Maybe. We don't really know."
"You don't know your birthday? That's so sacred."
I tell her normally we'd know. The rez radio announces the date every morning. But the tower was down that year. There was a fire. My auntie was making fry bread for my mom's baby shower, grease fire, took out half of townsite.
She's tearing up. "So you were born from fire. I bet you're a fire sign"
Then she stops. "Wait. How do you have a driver's license if you don't know your birthday? What does it say?"
"Oh. You don't know about the FBI exemption?"
"The what?"
"Yeah, a lot of Natives around here qualify. So where the birthday goes, it just says FBI."
Her eyes go huge. "The FBI lets you not put your birthday on your license?"
"Exactly."
"Can I tell my friends? Nobody knows about this."
"Only if you buy a blanket."
"I'll buy two."
She cashes out and walks off with her blankets. My mom's been at the table the whole time. She waits till the girl's out of earshot.
"Why are you telling that poor girl stories? What's the FBI got to do with anything?"
I say, "Full Blooded Indian."
She goes, "Holah. Don't be teasing those hippies like that, they'll come and take the rest of our land."
