David Heiller
Dear Grandma:
You’re probably looking
for my annual Christmas letter to you. Practice for the Christmas program at
church started three weeks ago. That’s about when Christmas starts for me.
Noah didn’t have a part.
He just had to sing four songs with the other third and fourth graders. But
that was more than enough. It wouldn’t be cool for a 10-year-old to admit that
singing was fun.
 |
| Noah and Grandma Schnick. David wrote lots of letters to Grandma when she was alive, and didn't stop after she passed. |
But his actions said
something else. Like when he warmed up in the car going to church on Sunday by
making up a song. It was something about a missing cat. Mollie joined in at the
end of each verse, and harmonized on the chorus. Cindy and I had big grins in
the front seat. It was a great song! We didn’t dare interrupt them, being from
the Land of Bland and all.
Mollie had a long part,
but she didn’t have to memorize it, so she did all right. She played Jingle
Bells on the piano too, before the program. She had asked her piano teacher to
come hear her, and of course Pat did. Pat had told her to practice 10 times a
day in order to get it right. Mollie had obeyed. If we had told her, she would
have refused, but not for Pat. Pat is a cross between a grandmother and a saint
to Mollie. Something like you were to me.
We sat with Pat on Sunday.
We all held our breath as Mollie took her seat. Mary Cronin turned around from
the pew ahead of us and gave us a smile of encouragement, as if we were
playing, which is how we felt.
 |
| Mollie and her piano, the last minute practice. |
Mollie placed the music on the piano, and sat up straight in her white dress, and played it loud and clear and perfectly. It’s funny how a simple song like Jingle Bells could sound so good and so pure coming from the hands of an eight year old. It lasted all of 30 seconds, but Handel’s Messiah couldn’t have sounded better to us.
Cindy went up afterward
and gave her a hug. Mollie beamed, and said “Oh Mom!”
Christmas pageants sum up
the good things about Christmas. No greedy commercialism. No gaudy lights. Just
a lot of good songs, and a bunch of kids acting out a story that has a baby for
a star.
The girls were dressed in
bright calico dresses, and towered over boys their own age. They tried to look
like teenagers, but their voices hit the high notes in pitch that reminded us
that they are still just kids.
Yet as they stood up
there, you saw how they had grown. Pretty soon they’ll be too old for this. Too
soon.
The boys huddled together
and looked aloof. But their true nature broke through here and there, like when
they would smile when they saw their parents. Or like when Noah sang the chorus
of “Angels We Have Heard On High.” Gloria,
In Excelsis Deo. He sang it “Gloria, It Is Chelsea’s
Day-O.” Chelsea Cronin was standing next to him, and I could tell what he was
doing by the way Chelsea was smiling. It was aimed at her. I couldn’t yell at
him too much though, since I had taught him the verse.
Cindy and I sat and
watched it all, smiling with other parents. I put my arm around Cindy’s
shoulder, and it felt good there, like that’s where it belonged.
 |
| Grandma had a way with those little ones. Grandma Schnick and Malika. |
Maybe you saw that from
your seat in the Balcony.
I thought about you
Sunday. I liked it when you would watch me in the Christmas programs back in
Brownsville. You were always so proud. You never said so, but I could tell.
After the program, Pat
gave Noah and Mollie Christmas presents, and told them what a good job they had
done. Noah wondered when he could open it, and Pat told him right now, which
made him happy. He’s anxious for Christmas to come. To him it comes with
presents.
Someday he’ll know it
comes with people like Pat, and with Christmas programs that have a baby for a
star.
Then we went to the home
of some friends. We ate a snack, and sat at their table. It felt good to talk.
As we were leaving, we gave one another Christmas hugs.
Riding home in the dark,
we felt the glow of Christmas. It had arrived for good that day with those good
friends, with thoughtful people like Pat, with the boys and girls of the
Christmas pageant.
And with the memory of
people like you. Merry Christmas, Grandma.
Love, David
No comments:
Post a Comment