When my sisters and I were young, our mother worked for the Seattle Indian Center (now renamed something less offensive like Northwest Center for Native American Heritage). It was, as indicated in the name, primarily dedicated to social services for disenfranchised Natives. They had day cares, work centers, etc.
They also frequently hosted pow wows, pot latches and other cultural events.
At the dedication of their new building, the room was packed with elders and members of all the local tribes. We were, I'm sure, the only pale faces in the crowd. Our blond or red hair shown like beacons and KL, who was three and both very loud and very precocious was holding court amid a group of grandmothers resplendent in their very nicest clothing and beaded jewelry.
As the ceremony is ready to begin a hush fell over the room and a dancer dressed in full regalia entered the room.
And then my loud ass sister shouts out "OH MY! Mommy! Look! It's a REAL INDIAN!"
Now, if you've ever taken a toddler to church you know that anything they say that is inappropriate is going to be crystal clear and loud enough to embarrass you.
Every pair of brown eyes in the room turns to look at us. CK and I begin surveying escape routes, but my mom says to KL
"You know Axl (my mothers Aleutian drunk bush pilot work boyfriend)?" and KL agrees she does know him. "And you know Rosemary? (the stunningly beautiful receptionist)" and KL agrees that she does "Well, what do you think they are?"
KL, little fists on her hips doesn't miss a beat and in the tone that children reserve for their parents when they're being especially retarded says;
"They're your FRIENDS"
Later, when Robin the transgendered ex-con got drunk and tried to sell Mum her shoes, she slurrily told her how glad she was that my mother had raised such lovely, classy children.
Which is why today my sisters and I will be posing like this for our holiday cards.