The Pale-Faced Lie

by David Crow

AFTER LIVING IN FORT DEFIANCE for more than three years, I couldn’t imagine living anywhere else. I had grown to love the Navajo people, and the reservation felt like home to me. Every day I tried to outdo myself entertaining my classmates, and they never got tired of it. I continued playing Little League even after I turned thirteen. Mr. Kontz discovered a rule that allowed an exception if the team was short a player. We had only eight without me. On the nights before our games, he and Mrs. Kontz let our team camp out in their backyard. In the mornings, we crammed into the bed of his old black pickup truck, and he hauled us, sometimes more than fifty miles, to baseball fields. We each brought twenty-five cents to help pay for gas. Thomas Kontz, Richard’s oldest brother, bought us Cokes when we won. After our games, we went to the movies at the Window Rock Civic Center for a dime. Our baseball uniforms got us discounts on candy and hot dogs. Sam and I had a tight group of friends and were as much a part of the team as the Navajo boys. In a place that had once felt so hostile, the Kontz family, Henry, Jim, Tommy, and my other Navajo friends accepted me in a way that seemed impossible when we arrived in Mud Flats.