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He was already an old man the first time, at us, he waved 
and that memory is one his sister and I…in our hearts have forever saved.

We learned his name was Joseph…and as a general rule
the three of us would sit together on his porch…on our way home from school.

I’m not sure what makes us remember…what causes a memory to last
It could have been the cookies and milk his wife had ready every day…
coupled with his stories from his past.

We would listen to his stories…some told with sorrow…some with jubilation….
tales of his growing up…a young boy…on the reservation.

He told us how the Navajo do not name their new born children
Instead…the parents watch them carefully…
waiting for them to reveal…what their name should be.

He said his mother would take him to the frozen water…it was there his mother claims…that he first smiled at his own reflection…and where Tahoma became his name.

With sadness he told them why he had to change his name…
how out of their land the Navajo were cheated
He told them so many other ways…his people were mistreated

He taught them through all his struggles, however,
how one can still remain joyful, generous and kind…
He said he learned to take the love along with him…
and leave the hate behind…

He taught them to take their generosity and kindness
and treat everyone the same…
lessons on his front porch…they will never forget…
Taught by an old friend…Tahoma was his name.

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