But I'm still not sure how to pronounce Chuculate

This Indian Kid: A Native American Memoir by Eddie Chuculate

My rating: 5 of 5 stars


When I pick up a memoir, I want three things: honesty; a glimpse into a life totally unlike my own; and to find out how the author has made the world a better place. Eddie Chuculate is brutally honest with and about himself. His grandparents indulged him but also kept him in line and instilled in him a strict sense of morals. The most enchanting parts of the book, and the best parts of his childhood, were in their "Little House on the Prairie," as it was called. His mother and stepfather were more problematic. Eddie had it tough sometimes--having to cut grass and even steal to put food on the family's table while still a child--but he's not complaining. He did what had to be done. The most harrowing part is the part about the band room. Why, Eddie, WHY? He doesn't make excuses; he tries and fails to explain his own actions to himself, takes his punishment, and moves on. And he makes good! The book a lot less "exotic" than I was expecting--I had initially thought that "Chuculate" was a Mexican name. It's not; he's from Oklahoma. The exotic parts, for me, were the baseball scenes, cause what do I know about baseball? Eddie's about the same age as me, so I related to the TV shows, music and "Soul Train" jeans! Other parts, like picking up cans and flattening pennies reminded me of stories from my father's childhood. And his perennial best friend Lonnie was a great supporting character. (Maybe Lonnie will write a memoir someday, and we'll get his own take on what happened in the car that awful day before Christmas.) I'll be looking for Eddie's short stories next. Note: I would have liked to see a family tree.



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