A view from the sky tram in Jasper on a family holiday
Everyone is hustling about backstage as we get ready. At six, it is my first Christmas Concert in our small town school. Shepherds and Wise Men and sheep trip over each other jostling for position and shushing each other. They needn’t worry about being heard; the clatter of sliding chairs and conversation drown them out as guests find their seats in the auditorium. All are anxious to see their little ones perform.
Eager children, adorned in costumes for their various numbers on the program, struggle to contain their excitement. Just wait until we show our parents what we have learned. A few are repeatedly pulled away from the curtains as they peek to see if their Mom or Dad is here yet. Hosts of smiling girls, dressed in white, look radiant in their shimmering angel costumes. Wings outlined with tinsel match the silver halos above their heads. How beautiful they look. I don’t know why the teacher wouldn’t let me be an angel. I can’t imagine anything lovelier. She insists she has something special for me to do; a recitation about a little black girl. I did so want to be an angel. It will be a whole year before I can try out again. We have rehearsed my performance until the words jump to my lips on her mark. She takes me through it one more time, making sure the expressions and accents are in exactly the right places. Maybe it will be alright. But I am not prepared for the rags she puts on me. I am still adjusting to the clothes, as she blackens my face and hands. I stare in shock at my bedraggled reflection in the mirror. I did not look anything like my friends dressed in white. Where have my dreams of an angel gone? Somewhere under the rags and paint, I have lost myself. This isn't how I have imagined this night. How can I go out and face the audience like this? Tears slip from my eyes as sadness overflows my heart. “It’s time,” she says. She gently guides me to center stage as the curtains open just enough for me to step out. Alone, and miserable, I look out into the darkened hall. She whispers to me to begin. I hesitate, and then one line follows another just as we practiced. Applause bursts through the air as I take my bow. To my amazement they love it. All thoughts of my appearance vanish as I bask in the adulations. I am hooked for life. I have discovered the stage. ======================= This was 1948. The term "political correctness" hasn't been created yet. I don't remember the words of the recitation, but judging from the reaction I received, I imagine it was positive and delightful.
1 Comment
JDT
12/14/2016 01:00:05 pm
A star was born! :)
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