In the Southwest, where I grew up, certain places didn't serve Native Americans. One day my mother - who was a beautiful, full-blooded Indian with lovely, long, black hair - and I were shopping. We decided to take a break and go into a restaurant and get something to drink. We sat down in a booth, with a formica tabletop and nice green leather seats. I'll never forget that booth. I'll always remember the name of the restaurant, too, though I won't mention it here. Mom sat on one side of the booth, I on the other. She ordered a cup of coffee and I, a glass of milk.

   The waitress brought my milk, but she didn't bring my mother's coffee. Instead, she went over near the cash register and stood. I walked over to her and said, "You forgot my mother's coffee." She just looked at me, didn't say anything, but didn't bring the coffee either...