Monument Valley is the most magical place to grow up

What do I answer when people ask, “Where are you from?”

Do I say Utah, or Arizona? Or should I just say the Navajo reservation?

Anybody who has asked me where I am from knows that it usually takes around a minute to try and convey the location I know as home.

Home is Monument Valley, where there is one of everything: one grocery store, one gas station, one laundry mat, one post office, and one clinic. Oh, and one major tourist site.

This is home – the land I grew up on is the same land thousands of people from across the world travel to see for themselves. It is bliss, it is breathtaking, it is magical.

Growing up essentially in isolation and in such a close-knit community meant seeing the same faces for eighteen years. My favorite memory of my childhood is going to the grocery store with my mother in the evenings, because I knew even if we were going there for just a loaf of bread we would be in that store for an hour.

We would walk in and almost instantly we would see a family friend, and proceed to have a conversation. Take a couple more steps and we would run into a relative – sometimes it would be a relative I would be meeting for the first time. That is the thing about being Navajo, you are related to just about everybody.

So, with every step a familiar face and a new conversation.

Finally, once we learned how everybody and their mothers were doing, we would make our way down the aisles trying to remember what we came to the store to buy. I loved that little store, it’s where all the stories were told.

Twenty-two miles from our three bedroom house, across the Arizona border, was where I attended school, head start through 12th grade. This meant waking up at 5:30 every morning to catch the bus, which waited for no one.

Looking back on it now I am actually impressed that I was able to be so disciplined for over thirteen years. I loved being the first one on the bus and greeting my bus driver, “Good Morning, Eric!” with my over-sized backpack full of blank notebooks and unused pencils, ducking and praying that my mom would drive away before all the other kids came – she never did.

I enjoyed school, seeing the same faces, and learning from the same teachers. My life was familiar. The students I graduated with were the same kids I colored with in head start – we became family. Oh, and we were all probably related anyway being that the majority of us were Navajo.

So what is there to do in such a rural area, besides going to school for seven hours a day?

Well, this is where basketball stepped in and became the most popular sport across the reservation. I can almost guarantee every Navajo who was raised on the reservation played basketball. It’s just what we do.

It became so popular that our style of play is known as “rez ball” or “run and gun,” which basically translates into “we will run fast and we will shoot well.” It is quick-paced, trust your gut, and keep moving forward basketball.

As kids we joined because, well, everybody else was joining and there really was nothing better to do after school. In high school, the competition was intense, and the game more elaborate, but there was a ubiquitous feeling of euphoria that came along with playing in front of thousands of Navajos in some of our great venues across the reservation.

The sense of pride we all felt as we took this game and made it out own – as children, waiting for our turn, as players shaking off nerves, and as adults who have been through the stages – is why we played.

I am proud of where I come from, and excited to share my experiences with those who gasp when I reveal that the nearest mall is three hours away. I had a childhood I would never trade. My days were long and tiring, but I cherished every second knowing that at some point it would be my turn to leave for college.

One day it will be my turn to take my child to the grocery store, to wake up at 5am to make breakfast before the bus comes, and to join the thousands of people in the stands to watch our children play the game we all love.

It is not accurate to say my hometown is Monument Valley, because there really is no town there. Monument Valley is my homeland, where my people reside. It is where I learned that what looked like a plain old rock to me was the monument someone from Germany traveled to see.

The place where stars fill the skies at night and the red sand has a sweet scent when it rains that permeates through the valleys. The one place I know I will never feel alone, and that family is one trip to the grocery store away.

Home is the gym that fills with the entire community on game day. In the heart of the Navajo reservation, hours away from a city, in the little three-bedroom house is where home will always be.