DALLAS -- Thanksgiving is a time for traditions, and stories. One of my favorites got its start 24 years ago, when I was an editor at a newspaper in Fort Worth.

It was the day before Thanksgiving, and I was chatting with co-workers about holiday plans.

Some co-workers were staying home. Some going out of town.

One co-worker, knowing that I was of American Indian descent (I’m Muscogee Creek/Menominee/Potawatomi and grew up in Oklahoma), appeared curious about me in particular and, what the heck, just went ahead and asked:

“What do your people do?” with a distinct emphasis on the “your.”

Living in Texas, you come to realize that people here don’t see many American Indians. Around here, we usually appear as caricatures, like cigar-store Indians or Cowtown re-enactors. People around here are more used to the cartoon images they see on the helmets of Washington’s NFL team or on the logos worn by the Cleveland baseball team that plays the Rangers.

But when you’re asked a question by a co-worker, you really can’t get offended at curious people who are more used to seeing American Indians whooping and getting shot up in John Wayne movies. They tend to be confused if you’re not wearing beads or feathers.

Having heard this question and other comments (like how my English was remarkable) from well-meaning people, I didn’t want to come off as rude, so I politely replied: “Glad you asked.”

“You see,” I told my co-workers as they leaned in, “back when I was in Oklahoma about 20 or so years ago, Thanksgiving was a special time for our people. In homes throughout Oklahoma, we would gather like no other time. Womenfolk would labor over hot ovens all night and morning. Menfolk would get ready, too, going through their closets to find red clothing that still fit and was appropriate for this special time of reverence.”

The co-worker seemed increasingly intrigued.

“As the women cooked, the men gathered in a semi-circle in the front room and focused intently on what was about to happen. Their red clothing would coincide with this time of reverence. A brotherhood was about to happen.”

The co-worker was impressed. “Whoa,” she said. “Then what? Then what?”

“Then,” I replied, “we’d wait for the Oklahoma-Nebraska football game to kick off on TV.”

She might have been disappointed, but everyone laughed. And I’m glad she asked.