 |
| The great rock mound, Three Monkeys, in Teec Nos Pos |
Most Third Culture Kids (TCKs), chilren who spent a
significant number of their growing up years in a culture other than their
parents’ culture(s), can call several and no places home. It’s been said that home is not a place but a memory. To me
home will always be Teec Nos Pos, Arizona in the 1950s. I think of it as a
place at the heart of Navajo Country but only because that is true in the
geography of my heart. In reality, it is near the northeastern edge of the
Reservation. It is home because it feels like home. And yet, it also feels like
not-home because I no longer belong there and never really did. The dilemma of
the TCK.
And then
there is hometown. I call Gallup my
hometown, which is different from home, even though our family lived here
longer than in Teec Nos Pos. This week I am visiting my hometown to help my
mother move out of her home and into the home of one of my brothers. And I am
here to teach a writing workshop to my niece’s fifth graders. Today ended up
being a free day, and I took a walk on some of the snowy streets and through a
few memories.
 |
| Redrock waves across from Rehoboth Mission |
We moved to
Gallup in 1957, when I was ready to enter 5th grade at the Rehoboth
Mission School. The “big” city was a shock. Asphalt streets instead of dirt
roads. Watching out for cars and trucks instead of horses and wagons. You never
had to watch out for the wagons because they moved at a different pace.
 |
| 213 West Green |
 |
| Elephant Hill |
We lived in a yellow brick house with a wide porch at 213 West Green Street, atop the steepest hill in Gallup. Known as Elephant Hill, it was long, tall and gray, extending into the sky at approximately a 45ยบ angle. Every weekday morning we scuttled down it on our way to the bus barn, where we boarded for Rehoboth, five miles away. Every afternoon we trudged back up.
 |
| Mom & Pop Candy Store |
Instead of
walking to the Teec Nos Pos Trading Post, we spent our nickel allowances on
Saturday mornings at the candy store run by a little old lady and a little old
man in the stone house at the bottom of Elephant Hill. Wax fingernails, black
mustaches, red lips and soda bottles filled with sweet colored liquid; candy
Pall Malls or Lucky Strikes; penny rootbeer barrels, gum drops, orange slices
and Tootsie pops were our staples.
Two blocks
from the base of the elephant stood the Gallup Public Library, and it made
moving into town almost worth the deep sorrow of leaving Teec Nos Pos. For the
first time in my life I owned a magic key, a library card. I no longer had to
wait for the librarians (bless them) in Santa Fe to send my allotment of four
books per month, wrapped in brown paper.
This idea of Third-Culture-Kids is intriguing. While my family didn't raise me overseas, their cultures were so completely different, not only from my brother's and I, but from each others. I relate to your words. There was virtually zero in our childhood that our parents could relate to. Bravo for their providing for our needs and comforts. Dad was from the very very tough Lower East Side of Manhattan and ran liquor up and down the East Coast for the mob during prohibition. He hung out at the Cotton Club in Harlem, did some song and dance and a few movies before getting into the jewelry business. Mom grew up in the hills and hollers of deep Appalachia. They were far far older than our peers' parents. Dad was a first generation citizen and Mom's "people" helped "settle" Ohio...I guess the Native Anericans already living there weren't settling it right. There was no talking at the dinner table-repressed laughter is the BEST! Different family reunions required different
ReplyDeleteskill sets. All in all, I probably wouldn't change anything. Sure, no one else was singing Gershwin in fourth grade, but I'm okay. Xo Thank you, Anna.
Thank you for sharing about the fascinating blend of diverse cultures in your family, Desert Deb. It gives a whole new meaning to Third Culture Kids. I'm curious as to which words specifically in my post you may have related to?
DeleteWhat you said about third culture kids really resonates with me... several and no places home at the same time. The idea of home being a memory and not a place is really intriguing to me! I'll have to think on that more!
ReplyDeleteThank you for posting your comment here, Holly. I'm wondering if you're thinking about your children as TCKs or if you also have your own experience that you resonate with. Or perhaps some of the kids you teach? It was actually a young immigrant (from Michoacan, I think) I first heard speak about home being a memory rather than a place. It struck me so profoundly.
DeleteHello Anna, Thanks for the vivid recollections. I too was struck by 'home as a memory.' And memory is so subjective, which leads me to think of how we create our pasts and then continuously recreate them, an ever-changing narrative. Dee
ReplyDeleteHi Dee. Home as memory is an interesting concept, and although it isn't original with me, I resonated powerfully with it. I like the idea of continuously creating and recreating our pasts--nicely put.
ReplyDelete