We lived in Tampa at the time, and the chief had been dead for 80-some years, but my son was convinced that Sitting Bull was going to kill him.
At first I just dismissed it.
Then, when he couldn’t sleep, I talked to him about Little Big Horn, and explained that if anyone should scare him it ought to be Custer.
After all, it was Custer’s bravado that killed his men–his hubris.
Everyone knows that.
My son didn’t care about hubris.
Next, I hired a man from the convenience store to come by our house dressed as the old chief.
I thought that if he could experience Sitting Bull in person, he’d see him as a regular guy, full of failings and contradictions.
Approachable. Smelly even.
Well that didn’t work either.
Plus the man from the convenience store forgot to braid his hair. It was all very confusing.
When I’d reached my wit’s end, I told him that I’d been lying all along, that Sitting Bull might actually try to kill him if given the chance.
And don’t forget the scalping, I said, making the scalping sound.
Then I sent him to his room and told him to hide.
Later I brought him some cocoa. There was nothing more to say.
