Having a pow-wow with the wife

For my first wedding anniversary, I went to an Indian Pow-wow.

By now, my female readers are throwing tomatoes at me, and the Native American activists of the world are preparing their picket signs.

Get over it!

It was my wife's idea to attend the pow-wow, after some Mono friends of ours invited us to the foothills for the weekend—and those same friends positively hate the term "Native American".

The name "America" came from the same folks that labeled the continent's indigenous peoples "Indians" in the first place.

It's true that these folks are not from India, and that Columbus thought they were, but why someone coined a particular term doesn't make the term any less valid.

If you truly want to be politically correct, call a Mono a Mono, an Apache an Apache, or—here's a novel idea—simply call them by their name.

My great grandmother—"Mamaw Teya"—was Cherokee.

Her family name was Gill—not Native or American or Indian.

And by the way, the expected first anniversary gift is "paper".

Our "Indian Fry Bread" was much tastier than paper...

...and besides, my wife did ask me to take her dancing for our anniversary.