As Lucy read me the details, a knot began to form in the pit of my stomach. Something told me that I wasn’t going to find that mask in this building. I was almost positive that the mask she was describing was hidden in a box in the trunk at my apartment. I turned and looked up at the portrait of my great-grandmother and felt as though she were looking back at me with pride.
Read MoreI knew just then that this was the place for me. My first exposure to Native Americans was when I was eleven. Grandfather had me reading The Last of the Mohicans along with a grueling eight-week practice course with spears and hatchets. The book was brilliant, and I was instantly hooked. I could not get enough, so I kept reading whatever I could find. I was fascinated with their way of life and often fancied myself as one of them.
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