can you see my wild native blood?

Sweetie (1989)

"When I was young and walked this way--somber, sallow, and morose as a mudball--when I was six and eight and ten and thought my life doled out to me in mean, cheap distances... when I was a boy and should have sprinted barefoot in bib overalls along these ways where quails piped and field mice hid... 'why was I kept in Buster Brown oxfords and corduroy slacks and a room full of big-little books?'... 

... 'Why was I spun into an upstairs cocoon? This is a land for childhood frolic, with forests dark and magical... why, then, did I refuse it as my world-to-grow-up-in?' 

The question had a new and fearful ring to me. Always before, whenever I brooded in some moody apartment with some melancholy wine and let my mind wander back to stand gaping, perplexed and horrified, on the brink of my past, I was able to fix the blame on some convenient villain: 'It was my brother Hank; it was my ancient fossil of a father, who frightened and disgusted me; it was my mother, whose name be frailty... they were the ones who tore my young life asunder!'... 

... But that doubting moon wouldn't let me get away with it. 'Be fair, be fair... Can you blame the first ten years on the eleventh?'"

Sometimes a Great Notion, Ken Kesey