The Absolutely True Diary of a Part-Time Indian

by Sherman Alexie

Dr. Rudine Sims Bishop, who has written extensively about the importance of children’s literature, talks about how books can be both mirrors and windows—mirrors in which readers can see themselves on the pages of literature and thereby know their existence in the world is valid and true, and windows into worlds they might never have imagined.

If you speak and write in English, or Spanish, or Chinese, or any other language, then only a certain percentage of human beings will get your meaning.

And sure, Oscar was only an adopted stray mutt, but he was the only living thing that I could depend on. He was more dependable than my parents, grandmother, aunts, uncles, cousins, and big sister. He taught me more than any teachers ever did. Honestly, Oscar was a better person than any human I had ever known.

“I’m not anorexic,” she says. “I’m bulimic.” She says it with her nose and chin in the air. She gets all arrogant. And then I remember there are a bunch of anorexics who are PROUD to be skinny and starved freaks. They think being anorexic makes them special, makes them better than everybody else. They have their own fricking Web sites where they give advice on the best laxatives and stuff.

“Arnold,” she said one day after school, “I hate this little town. It’s so small, too small. Everything about it is small. The people here have small ideas. Small dreams. They all want to marry each other and live here forever.” “What do you want to do?” I asked. “I want to leave as soon as I can. I think I was born with a suitcase.”

“Oh, yes, we are. Weird people still get banished.” “You mean weird people like me,” I said. “And me,” Gordy said. “All right, then,” I said. “So we have a tribe of two.” I had the sudden urge to hug Gordy, and he had the sudden urge to prevent me from hugging him. “Don’t get sentimental,” he said. Yep, even the weird boys are afraid of their emotions.

I’ve learned that the worst thing a parent can do is ignore their children. And, trust me, there are plenty of Reardan kids who get ignored by their parents. There are white parents, especially fathers, who never come to the school. They don’t come for their kids’ games, concerts, plays, or carnivals. I’m friends with some white kids, and I’ve never met their fathers. That’s absolutely freaky.

“I used to think the world was broken down by tribes,” I said. “By black and white. By Indian and white. But I know that isn’t true. The world is only broken into two tribes: The people who are assholes and the people who are not.”

Reservations were meant to be prisons, you know? Indians were supposed to move onto reservations and die. We were supposed to disappear. But somehow or another, Indians have forgotten that reservations were meant to be death camps. I wept because I was the only one who was brave and crazy enough to leave the rez. I was the only one with enough arrogance.

“I’m not nomadic,” Rowdy said. “Hardly anybody on this rez is nomadic. Except for you. You’re the nomadic one.” “Whatever.” “No, I’m serious. I always knew you were going to leave. I always knew you were going to leave us behind and travel the world. I had this dream about you a few months ago. You were standing on the Great Wall of China. You looked happy. And I was happy for you.” Rowdy didn’t cry. But I did.