The last manmade structure shrank to a black dot in my rearview mirror as I drove down the cracked and pitted paved highway without a car in sight. The unmarked turnoff to the left was barely visible between juniper trees and sagebrush, the place where the pavement turned to dirt. I had already explored this region once before during my time off from teaching, but this particular turnoff had escaped my attention. Although I spent most of my weekends taking the students in my class to their remote homes, this particular weekend I decided to return to Utah to explore … Continue reading
Category Archives: Memoir
Most of the teachers who worked for the BIA regarded me as an enigma in my enthusiastic embrace of life on the reservation. The majority of them were middle-aged and looking forward to retiring from the government and moving back home. In contrast to my colleagues, I became so immersed in Navajo culture that I gradually found myself identifying with the Navajo people. Every couple of weeks when I left the reservation to buy groceries in Gallup, I thought how sickly white people appeared, with their anemic-looking faces, as they pushed their grocery carts down the aisles. I had to … Continue reading
Ever since I arrived on the Navajo Reservation to teach at the boarding school, I roamed around Canyon de Chelly at every opportunity. Usually I went with my Navajo friends in a truck or on horseback. One Sunday, in the pre-dawn hours of the morning, I went into the canyon alone, on foot. The air was clean and delicious with a hint of sage and juniper. I could never have guessed what awaited me. The mouth of the canyon opened wide to a wet, sandy bottom. Imprints of horses’ hooves mingled with the tracks of truck tires and a faint … Continue reading
When I first began to speak in my broken Navajo, the rapport came instantaneously, accompanied by much laughter at my attempts at conversation. The more Navajo I learned, the more friendly and welcoming the people became. Many Navajos invited me to their homes to participate in ceremonies, some of which were closed to white people. One of these was the peyote ceremony, more formally known as the Native American Church, a religion introduced by the Plains Indians in the late 1800s. The US government permitted Native Americans to use peyote as long as it was used in a spiritual context … Continue reading
“Good morning, class. My name is Ms. Elliott,” I announced cheerily as I stood in the front of the room and looked out over the rows of brown faces. No one looked at me. All eyes looked down in an almost studious effort to avoid my gaze. There wasn’t a sound. I repeated my greeting in a louder voice, “Good morning, class. I’m your new fourth grade teacher.” I waited for a response. The room remained silent. Trying to engage the students, I asked a string of questions. “What is your name?” I pointed to the boy in the second … Continue reading
When I went home on spring break, something profound happened spontaneously—without effort or intention. Instead of viewing my mother as someone who didn’t give me what I needed growing up, for the first time I could clearly see her as a fellow human being who had suffered tremendously as a child. I saw in her face that she was just as starved for love and kindness and tenderness as I was. All the old residues of anger and resentment dissolved in that moment, never to return—not even once. A flood of love and compassion for my mother filled up my … Continue reading
In the next few sessions, Dr. Leonard wanted to focus on my relationship with my mother. When I told him that my mother’s name was Erica, he asked me if I resembled her in any way. At the time, I was not able to see even a remote resemblance to her. It was a mystery to me why my parents gave my mother’s name to me, the fifth out of six children. Years later I came to understand that, while my nature resembled more my father, my physiology resembled that of my mother with her sensitivities to chemicals and her … Continue reading
“Dr. Leonard, I know that you’ll be shocked when I tell you my secret. You probably won’t like me anymore.” With a flushed face and racing heart, I confessed. “I’m not a very intelligent person. I’m actually pretty dumb. I’ve just been pretending that I’m smart most of my life. I’m a good actress and have everyone convinced that I’m smart.” Dr. Leonard looked puzzled. “What are you talking about, Erica? Of course you’re intelligent. You’re very intelligent. I read your file. You took honors courses in high school and got straight A’s. I read the enthusiastic letters of recommendation … Continue reading
In time, Dr. Leonard won my trust and coaxed me into talking about my life. He listened with uninterrupted attention and with disarming compassion. My highly-tuned radar could not detect even a trace of ridicule or judgment in his demeanor—something I had never experienced before. I felt seen and heard for the first time. Therapy became a sanctuary for my troubled psyche. I saw Dr. Leonard every week that I was on campus over the last two years of college, sometimes even twice a week. Jeff’s father generously paid for the therapy. The sessions became an adventure that I looked forward … Continue reading
With the marriage to Jeff, I gave up my family name, Merriam, and switched to Elliott. I practiced saying my new name over and over. “My name is Erica Elliott.” I liked the way it sounded. The new name symbolized a new life and gave me some psychological distance from my family as I struggled to find my own way in the world as an adult. Jeff came from a wealthy background and could have whatever material possessions he wanted. His parents, Edith and Oz, had an elegant home south of Chicago in an upscale neighborhood. Oz was president of … Continue reading