Judy Goffena Boogman
When I was young there was a girl adopted possibly by a couple in my small hometown in Montana. She was Native American and her “parents” were not. Matter of fact the whole town was not. She seemed angry and out of place. One day I was waiting on the court house lawn in Main Street. My Mom was probably inside. Robin was also sitting there on the grass. The next thing I know I am face down and Robin is sitting on me with my arm pulled behind my back. She demands that I declare out loud that She is more American than me. I had to shout it loudly and then she was gone. I have always wanted to tell her that I believed she was right.