I found a piece of paper with this little poem inserted in my old notebook. It was written by Beverly Slapin. I realized I was born an Indian and will always be.

*All right, class, let’s see who know what two plus two is. Yes, Doris?*

I have a question. Two plus two what?

*Two plus two anything*.

I don’t understand.

*OK, Doris, I’ll explain it to you. You have two apples and you get two more. How many do you have?*

Where would I get two more?

*From a tree.*

Why would I pick two apples if I already have two?

*Never mind, you have two apples and someone gives you two more.*

Why would someone give me two more, if she could give them to someone who’s hungry?

*Doris, it’s just an example.*

An example of what?

*Let’s try again—you have two apples and you find two more. Now, how many do you have?*

Who lost them?

YOU HAVE TWO PLUS TWO APPLES!!!! HOW MANY DO YOU HAVE ALL TOGETHER????

Well, if I ate one, and gave away the other three, I’d have none left, but I could always get some more if I got hungry from that tree you were talking about before.

*Doris, this is your last chance—you have two, uh, buffalo, and you get two more. Now how many do you have*?

It depends. How many are cows and how many are bulls, and is any of the cows pregnant?

*It’s hopeless! You Indians have absolutely no grasp of abstraction!*

Huh?

-by Beverly Slapin