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Out with the old and slide into the new. My two brothers and I stand shivering at the school door. Winds howl off of the snow swept rock that stands guard above the school. Willy wags wing gusts of powered snow into the corner that we huddle. Frigid fingers tear and tug at our faces and pull on our clothing. Powdered snow clings to our stroud Indian "parkies."
The school bell rings but the door refuses to budge. One more pull on the door, our very best attempt, still no movement. We can hear voices laughing and calling in the distance, how in the hell do you get into this place? We cannot figure it out, but this is perfect, we can go home. We have done all that we can to access what we really don't want entry to anyway, a new school at almost the end of the school year, it just doesn't get any worse than this!
Yes it does. We arrive at the door to our new school clad in the clothing of the Inuit's traditional enemies, the Dene Indians of the McKenzie River in the N.W.T. of Canada. From experience we know that it's not good to be different.
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