Finding My Sacred

My Family

My mom and dad, Richard and Ida Smith, both of Navajo descent, met at Intermountain Indian boarding School in Brigham City, Utah. My father excelled at automotive skills, and as a boy was always taking objects apart and putting them back together. My mother, Ida, was a student body officer, on the swim team, and had her eyes set on nursing. My father eventually became a welder who worked twelve hour shifts. He had a timely sense of humor, kind eyes, and a quiet demeanor. My earliest memories were of him calling me his "little gal." If I ran and skinned my knees, he was the first to swoop me up in his arms and ask if I was okay. My mother, on the other hand, would scold me for running and asked if I ruined another pair of leggings. A fiery lady with a will of steel, she was the head of our household. A no-nonsense, intelligent, strict woman who commanded respect. My parents adopted my younger brother and I, both of Navajo descent from birth. Which for me, I thought was never an issue, my extended family was all I knew.
I found my passion in the first grade when my teacher, Mrs. Bainter, would read to us a part of a novel each day. It sparked my imagination and interest. She would read the "The Pearl," by John Steinbeck. I always looked forward to reading time. As she read, I could imagine the vivid scenery, smell the scents, and most of all feel the same feelings of the characters.. I knew I had to experience more of these wonderful stories. The first book I remember reading was a book about horses called "Dexter." I remember the essence of the book, not so much each word. It described a girl's love for a horse, and it touched me. The next book I remember reading was "The Count of Monte Cristo," a classic. For the average first grader, it was a challenging book, for me it was effortless. I can't say I understood everything, but I had the premise and a dictionary. I remember the feeling it left with me, the impression, and losing myself in another character. From that point on, I threw myself inwardly into the world of books. Always one to prefer the classic novels to the current mainstream ones, my all-time favorite novel is Herman Hesse's "Siddhartha."  Siddhartha made egotistical mistakes and was able to still redeem himself.  It's where I remember the words, the story, and most of all: the journey.