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Monday, June 20, 2011

From "White Sands" by Philip Corbett

White Sands
I had been waiting for this moment for years. I had never asked, knowing this day would come, but now, I spoke. Both men gave me their full attention, as if I were speaking my first words.

"My curiosity, when it burns, burns hot and bright, but most days it is doused in the contentment of my Navajo life, my Navajo family. Clay," I looked him straight in the eye, "you are a match to the kindling of my questions. You are bilagaana. You bring more questions to my mind than you bring answers. I ask you nothing about my life, yet I think you know much." Clay struggled to hide his discomfort. "You chose to turn your back on the way of the white man. You chose the Indian life. That decision was denied me, it was not mine to make, but I would know my past. I would have my memory set free."

"No good can come of this," Clay stressed. His eyes pleaded with mine. What could he know of my past?

I turned to my father.

"I am ready."

Niyol nodded.

That night, I went to the mountain.

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