When Steve, my Navajo friend, told me that he'd come to my house and teach my family how to make real Navajo tacos, I thought he was just kidding. No. He was was serious. Very serious.
He came over--arms filled with all of the necessary supplies--and not only told us how it was done, but showed us. And we weren't allowed to just sit back and watch. We had to get in there and get our hands dirty.
I thought the kids would act like they do when the home teachers come--stick around for 30 seconds and then disappear into the basement. Nope. Steve totally kept their attention as he walked us through the intricacies of not just kneading the dough, but thinking positive thoughts while kneading the dough. The kids were enraptured.
We've known for some time that Paige is less of a worker and more of a manager. She didn't want to get her hands messy, so instead of doing any actual cooking, she spent at least a half hour talking with Steve about possible price points for her eventual Navajo taco stand. (Steve: "I think you could charge $2 for a piece of fry bread; $3 if you add a Shasta and an Otterpop." Paige: "Uh, yeah. But if you only charge $1, more people would want to buy it.")
Curtis, who never talks to anyone, spent the whole night chatting with Steve about the dough, and basketball, and the rules to playing HORSE. Of course, that doesn't mean he'll smile for a picture--even when he's surrounded by a mountain of fry bread that he made himself.
It was a pretty great evening with Steve and Tami. (Before they came over, Curtis asked Traci, "Mom, who's Tom and Jerry?" Traci replied, confused, "Uh, a cartoon cat and mouse." Curtis shook his head. "No, the Tom and Jerry that are coming over tonight." The light bulb went on for Traci. "Oh, not Tom and Jerry. Steve and Tami.")
We're lucky to have such great friends.