When I was a little kid, I had a friend named Ron. Ron was different, unique and interesting. All people appeared this way to me at that time. Ron stole a pair of shorts from my mother’s clothesline. My mother’s friend caught Ron downtown and yelled at him, “nice shorts!,” and then drove off. I didn’t understand why Ron didn’t get to have a colorful pair of shorts. He was different, unique and interesting like me. Then they cut my hair. I cried, “I look like a bald-headed monkey.” My grandfather said, “his hair was so long because of the Indians up there.” They sent me to a Catholic school. I’m white. My language was stolen from me. My culture was stolen from me. My friends were stolen from me.