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Childhood games

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Childhood games.jpg Baby-like, I ran my fingers through the shiny grain, spilling a few kernels on the floorThumbnailsMy little half sister was my usual playmate. She was two years younger than I, and I loved her dearlyBaby-like, I ran my fingers through the shiny grain, spilling a few kernels on the floorThumbnailsMy little half sister was my usual playmate. She was two years younger than I, and I loved her dearlyBaby-like, I ran my fingers through the shiny grain, spilling a few kernels on the floorThumbnailsMy little half sister was my usual playmate. She was two years younger than I, and I loved her dearlyBaby-like, I ran my fingers through the shiny grain, spilling a few kernels on the floorThumbnailsMy little half sister was my usual playmate. She was two years younger than I, and I loved her dearlyBaby-like, I ran my fingers through the shiny grain, spilling a few kernels on the floorThumbnailsMy little half sister was my usual playmate. She was two years younger than I, and I loved her dearlyBaby-like, I ran my fingers through the shiny grain, spilling a few kernels on the floorThumbnailsMy little half sister was my usual playmate. She was two years younger than I, and I loved her dearly

White people seem to think that Indian children never have any play and never laugh. Such ideas seem very funny to me. How can any child grow up without play? I have seen children at our reservation school playing white men’s games—baseball, prisoners’ base, marbles. We Indian children also had games. I think they were better than white children’s games.

I look back upon my girlhood as the happiest time of my life. How I should like to see all my little girl playmates again! Some still live, and when we meet at feasts or at Fourth-of-July camp, we talk of the good times we had when we were children.