Over lunch, I explained to a group of boys that my father was a prince.
"My grandfather, see, he´s a chief. It´s sort of like the king of the tribe, you know...like de Indians. So that makes my father a prince. He´ll take over when my grandfather dies."
"What about after that?" one of my friends asked as we emptied our trays into the trash bin. "I mean, wiil you go back and be a prince?"
"well ...if I want to, I could. It´s sort of complicated, see, ´cause the tribe is full of warriors. Like Obama...that means ´Burning Spear. ´ The men in our tribe all want to be chief, so my father has to setlle these feuds before I can come."
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