The Absolutely True Diary of a Part-Time Indian Read Online Free PDF

the rez forever ."
    "What do you mean?"
    "You were right to throw that book at me. I deserved to get smashed in the face for what I've done to Indians. Every while person on this rez should get smashed in the face. But, let me tell you this. All the Indians should get smashed in the face, too."
    I was shocked. Mr. P was furious .

    "The only thing you kids are being taught is how to give up. Your friend Rowdy, he's given up. That's why he likes to hurt people. He wants them to feel as bad as he does."
    "He doesn't hurt me."
    "He doesn't hurt you because you're the only good thing in his life. He doesn't want to give that up. It's the only thing he hasn't given up."
    Mr. P grabbed me by the shoulders and leaned so close to me that I could smell his breath.
    Onions and garlic and hamburger and shame and pain.
    "All these kids have given up," he said. "All your friends. All the bullies. And their mothers and fathers have given up, too. And their grandparents gave up and their grandparents before them. And me and every other teacher here. We're all defeated."
    Mr. P was crying.
    I couldn't believe it.
    I'd never seen a sober adult cry.
    "But not you," Mr. P said. "You can't give up. You won't give up. You threw that book in my face because somewhere inside you refuse to give up."
    I didn't know what he was talking about. Or maybe I just didn't want to know.
    Jeez, it was a lot of pressure to put on a kid. I was carrying the burden of my race, you know? I was going to get a bad back from it.
    "If you stay on this rez," Mr. P said, "they're going to kill you. I'm going to kill you.
    We're all going to kill you. You can't fight us forever."
    "I don't want to fight anybody," I said.
    "You've been fighting since you were born," he said. "You fought off that brain surgery.
    You fought off those seizures, you fought off all the drunks and drug addicts. You kept your hope. And now, you have to take your hope and go somewhere Sere other people have hope."
    I was starting to understand. He was a math teacher. I had to add my hope to somebody
    else's hope. I had to multiply hope by hope.
    "Where is hope?" I asked. "Who has hope?"
    "Son," Mr. P said. "You're going to find more and more pope the farther and farther you walk away from this sad, sad, sad reservation."

Go Means Go
    After Mr. P left, I sat on the porch for a long time and thought about my life. What the heck was I supposed to do? I felt like life had just knocked me on my ass.
    I was so happy when Mom and Dad got home from work.
    "Hey, little man," Dad said.
    "Hey, Dad, Mom."
    "Junior, why are you looking so sad?" Mom asked. She knew stuff.
    I didn't know how to start, so I just started with the biggest question.

    "Who has the most hope?" I asked.
    Mom and Dad looked at each other. They studied each other's eyes, you know, like they
    had antennas and were sending radio signals to each other. And then they both looked buck at me.
    "Come on," I said. "Who has the most hope?"
    "White people," my parents said at the same time.
    That's exactly what I thought they were going to say, so I said the most surprising thing they'd ever heard from me.
    "I want to transfer schools," I said.
    "You want to go to Hunters?" Mom said.
    It's another school on the west end of the reservation, filled with poor Indians and poorer white kids. Yes, there is a place in the world where the white people are poorer than the Indians.
    "No," I said.
    "You want to go to Springdale?" Dad asked.
    It's a school on the reservation border filled with the poorest Indians and poorer-than-poorest white kids. Yes, there is a place in the world where the white people are even poorer than you ever thought possible.
    "I want to go to Reardan," I said.
    Reardan is the rich, white farm town that sits in the wheat fields exactly twenty-two miles away from the rez. And it's a hick town, I suppose, filled with farmers and rednecks and racist cops who stop every Indian that drives through.
    During one week when I was little,