After one of our recent bike rides, my son and I were dancing to accordion music in the grass at the farmer's market, when one of the musicians called out "pizza dough tricks!"
We weren't fast enough to see the tricks, but we wandered over to the pizza tent, where two college-age guys were prepping their supplies. It was only 9 am, so they didn't have many customers yet.
My son and I asked if they would be willing to repeat their pizza dough tricks, since we'd missed it. One of the guys graciously agreed and put on a great show, slinging the dough through his legs and over his head. My son thought it was pretty awesome. We decided to order a pizza and hovered by the tent while they made it. These guys, though young, were pizza artisans. When I make pizza, I pound and stretch the dough in a way that is the very definition of "impatience". Not them. They gently poked the dough with the tips of their fingers. Sprinkled precise amounts of parmesan. Swirled the sauce in circles on the dough.
And the whole time, they explained each step to my son, who was captivated. They answered his questions and seemed to enjoy having us as an audience. They were so kind to take the time to connect with my son and explain the pizza-making process to him. And their kindness, to this small person whom I protect and love more than anything, really touched my heart.
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