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Event, with family
Dec. 25th, 2005 10:43 amAnd this is Christmas Eve at my sister's house:
For the last few years, my brother-in-law and his brother's family have gotten together with their children at the Cullen residence, to enact the birth of Jesus. As they've gotten old enough to handle lines (or at least cues), the children have been given various roles; much discussion of who's going to get to be Mary this year, and who's going to be a sheep. Sarah hands me a book of Bible stories, and asks if I'll narrate; I sneak a look at the first sentence of the introduction ("The Bible is a collection of some of the best stories ever told..."), and suspect that this book and I can attain a meeting of the minds.
The kids gather in my niece Meaghan's bedroom to pick out clothes; my cousin Teaghan (sheep) winds up in gray sweats with wool-lined gloves, whereas Meaghan (Mary) looks properly radiant in one of my brother-in-law's bathrobes. Some last-minute discussion of cues and props in the dressing room, with my sister as director/stage manager, and we're ready to begin. I sit in a chair at one end of the room, as various camera-wielding parents and grandparents discuss lighting issues at the other end for a moment; then, I assume my best narrator's voice, and we're ready to begin.
The children watch me, eyes shining, as I relate the tale, and they wait for their cues to enter. Joseph (my cousin Aidan) leads Mary over to the multicolored pup tent that's serving as a stable; Grandpa Charlie, as owner of the stable, gives them space to sleep. Mary removes the plastic doll that serves as the baby Jesus from under her robes as my nephew Patrick (the oldest at eleven), helps lead a sheep whose attention had wandered into position. Grandpa Charlie now holds the star we'd made this afternoon from cardboard and glitter aloft, as the mighty Matty, playing the three Wise Men, comes bearing gifts of gold, frankincense and myrrh (all of which bear a suspicious resemblance to an Eminem CD, but let it pass), and the play comes to its conclusion.
I've come to find something touching in this annual ritual, with parents chuckling over their children's improvisations (the wandering sheep was a hit) and leaning in to get pictures, even as they encourage them through this reenactment of a story that predates us all. These moments help give us a sense of bonding, of family; a chance to laugh together about the entire thing afterward, even as I remember the children's shining eyes; a chance to remember, not so much the specific ritual or religion, but the feeling that at its best, underlies the whole thing, bringing us together.
Happy holidays.
For the last few years, my brother-in-law and his brother's family have gotten together with their children at the Cullen residence, to enact the birth of Jesus. As they've gotten old enough to handle lines (or at least cues), the children have been given various roles; much discussion of who's going to get to be Mary this year, and who's going to be a sheep. Sarah hands me a book of Bible stories, and asks if I'll narrate; I sneak a look at the first sentence of the introduction ("The Bible is a collection of some of the best stories ever told..."), and suspect that this book and I can attain a meeting of the minds.
The kids gather in my niece Meaghan's bedroom to pick out clothes; my cousin Teaghan (sheep) winds up in gray sweats with wool-lined gloves, whereas Meaghan (Mary) looks properly radiant in one of my brother-in-law's bathrobes. Some last-minute discussion of cues and props in the dressing room, with my sister as director/stage manager, and we're ready to begin. I sit in a chair at one end of the room, as various camera-wielding parents and grandparents discuss lighting issues at the other end for a moment; then, I assume my best narrator's voice, and we're ready to begin.
The children watch me, eyes shining, as I relate the tale, and they wait for their cues to enter. Joseph (my cousin Aidan) leads Mary over to the multicolored pup tent that's serving as a stable; Grandpa Charlie, as owner of the stable, gives them space to sleep. Mary removes the plastic doll that serves as the baby Jesus from under her robes as my nephew Patrick (the oldest at eleven), helps lead a sheep whose attention had wandered into position. Grandpa Charlie now holds the star we'd made this afternoon from cardboard and glitter aloft, as the mighty Matty, playing the three Wise Men, comes bearing gifts of gold, frankincense and myrrh (all of which bear a suspicious resemblance to an Eminem CD, but let it pass), and the play comes to its conclusion.
I've come to find something touching in this annual ritual, with parents chuckling over their children's improvisations (the wandering sheep was a hit) and leaning in to get pictures, even as they encourage them through this reenactment of a story that predates us all. These moments help give us a sense of bonding, of family; a chance to laugh together about the entire thing afterward, even as I remember the children's shining eyes; a chance to remember, not so much the specific ritual or religion, but the feeling that at its best, underlies the whole thing, bringing us together.
Happy holidays.
