On the phone, my uncle asks me when I'm finally going to heed the call of the drum, dress in my father's regalia, and dance powwow. I laugh and say that I'd have to get my sisters to run a year-long boot camp for me to find my long-lost rhythm. And my uncle says that he's 84 and I better start sooner than later. My wife, being Indian, knows what my uncle and I are talking about even though she can only hear my half of the conversation. She smiles, points at me, and nods her head. O, we Indians are beautiful and live almost halfway to pure because we want every Indian to dance even when they're not sure if they'll ever take the challenge and chance.
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plain out lovely and delightful.
Physics lesson: People are not dogs. People are not snacks. People are dogs. People are snacks.