David Heiller
Dear Grandma:
Time for another Christmas
letter. My fourth one to you.
The Christmas program at
church went well, as you probably know from your balcony seat.
Somehow things always
manage to go OK. The practices were another matter. In practice, no one knows
their lines. At the program, everyone (well almost everyone) has them down pat.
 |
| A pre-Christmas program twirl. |
In practice, the kids sing
so loud you have to tell them to quiet it down, to SING, not shout. In the program,
you can barely hear them.
Maybe it’s the costumes. Put
a pair of angel wings on a kid, or a halo fastened to a bent coat hanger, and they
act like angels. Put them in a bathrobe, with a dishtowel for a hat, and they are
as humble as shepherds.
Except for Timmy. First he
wouldn’t say his part in practice. Then his mother, DeeAnn, tried to coax him into
his robe amidst the roar of dressing for the program. He crossed his arms in front
of him and started crying. DeeAnn led him to the back room, by the furnace, her
face as determined as Timmy’s. He looked like he was paying a visit to the proverbial
woodshed.
Ten minutes later, DeeAnn and
Timmy rejoined us as we waited outside the church doors. Tim was robe-less and tearless,
and DeeAnn looked like she had just gone nine rounds with a four-year-old Evander
Holyfield.
She must have done some serious
plea bargaining, because when Tim’s turn came before the microphone, he said: “We’re
so excited we’re going to tell everyone!” Maybe it wasn’t quite that clear, but
he said it. You could tell by the sparkle in his mother’s eyes.
Doug played Joseph. He had
the longest part, and didn’t trust his memory. He pulled out a piece of paper from
the pocket of his bathrobe. It looked like a used Kleenex, and shook when he read.
But read it he did, and well. He carried on the proud tradition of Josephs that
date back to Brownsville, 1965 (my stellar role, you may recall), and beyond to
that first Joseph, 1,992 years ago.
Some of the kids had so much
confidence. Like Lisa, who recited her 83 words slicker than sleet. She’s had it
memorized for three weeks, and she wasn’t about to get tongue tied now, in front
of her mother, father, aunt, uncle, and 42 other relatives. She’ll probably remember
that part for the rest of her life. Even if she wants to forget it.
Murphy’s Law 29-G states that
someone must get the giggles in every Christmas pageant. This year Chrissy and Wendy
got the nod. They came in a bit too early on the second verse of their song with
Clint and Joe. It doesn’t take much to start a 13-year-old girl laughing in church.
But they didn’t laugh long. They didn’t want any BOYS to out-sing them.
The rest of the music was good
too. The children sang loud enough, and they didn’t shout after all. I sang with them
a little bit, to get them going, but stopped myself. There’s nothing finer or purer
than the sound of children singing at a Christmas program.
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| Grandma Schnick and Noah together at Christmas, before these letters began. |
As usual, Bev had the best
song, “Jesus, Name Above All Names.” The music rolled like waves of water off her
piano, and the kids rode the waves like celestial surfers. OK, maybe I’m stretching
it. You know what I mean.
Noah and Mollie did all right.
Mollie had on her white dress with a red ribbon. She didn’t have any wings, and
didn’t need them, except for when she pointed to the back of the church when Donna
came in.
Noah said his part without
a hitch. He had called Connie, his babysitter, before the program, to see if she
was coming. Called her up on the phone, like he wanted to take her to the Prom.
Never mind that she’s 15 and he’s nine. I’m not sure what her plans had been for
that Sunday afternoon but Connie
being Connie, she came. She’s starred in a few of these herself, and
not too long ago.
Wow, how kids grow up. I seem
to notice it at Christmas programs. Boys and girls who were in Sunday School yesterday
are suddenly changing into young men and women. I guess you saw that too.
I miss you, lots, Grandma.
Till next year.
Love, David
Love, David
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