Shepherds and Yule Logs

 

A couple weeks ago, I participated in our yearly Christmas pageant at church. And once more I played a shepherd, but a quiet shepherd. I had no lines; just stood around and looked shepherdy. And I did okay; I didn't suck anyway. But it’s a role anyone can do and pretty hard to mess up. Still, I always feel the butterflies and- if not kept occupied- find myself distracted by the ghosts of Christmas Pageants Past and my "stellar" fourth grade performance at Kingswood School.

The school show that year was mostly singing and carols, but part of the routine spotlighted some other non-North American Christmas traditions and folk lore. That’s where our class came in.

They dressed me up as a little Norseman and all I had to do was stand on stage with David Bookey (also dressed in Norse-wear), while a narrator read the origins of the Yule Log. Then the rest of the fourth grade would sing a song. David and I were at opposite ends of this large downed tree (which was actually a roll of old white carpet spray painted brown) each holding a cardboard sword and told to act like we'd just returned from conquering the New World.

But the “helmet” I had to wear kept slipping below my eyes, which was odd because it hadn’t done that during the afternoon run-through. However, in the chaos and confusion backstage, I forgot to button the chinstrap before getting into our places. And once the curtain was up, it was too late. So I'm out there like a dufus and fumbling with my headgear. Then I dropped my sword. And when I stooped to pick it up, the damn helmet fell off altogether. And in a panic, I put it on backwards.

The audience was laughing-- good-naturedly because the situation was funny--but in my ears they were laughing at me for being a screw up. After all, we were supposed to be “serious" and "fierce" and remain in character. But I'd blown it. I went out and practically invented the term "wardrobe malfunction" right in front of the whole Kingswood auditorium audience. Eat your heart out, Janet Jackson. I couldn’t wait for our stupid segment to be over so I could go someplace and hide.

 

The narration finally ended and the curtain mercifully closed, just as I got my hat back on straight. As the fifth graders came on to do whatever they were going to do, I scurried into the dark shadows and unseen reaches of the back stage area, because I knew I was about to cry and didn't want anyone to see. I was humiliated. But our teacher, Miss Lubin, found me hiding under a desk and sat down on the floor so we were at eye level. "Why are you crying?” It seemed pretty obvious to me, but through trying-to-hold-it-back blubbering, answered her anyway. "I messed up…I made everybody laugh”.

 

Scooting closer, Miss Lubin put her hands out for me to grab, and gently pulled me out from my temporary refuge. Then she put her arms around me and spoke softly. “No, they weren’t laughing at you, they were encouraging you.” I'd never known a teacher to be wrong before, but clearly Miss Lubin was this time, because all I heard was snickering, not admiration. "They may have laughed at the helmet, but they were admiring your bravery for standing up there under difficult circumstances and staying with it, like all good actors would. So you did good.”

“I did?”

 

“Yes, you did.” Miss Lubin squeezed my body again and turned me loose. Handing over a cookie she was hiding in her other hand, she reminded me to be ready to take a bow with everyone else after the final act. Then she walked away. But in her wake, she'd taken my catastrophe and turned it into a triumph. I thought I was the dumbest kid in all of kid-dom, but Miss Lubin made me feel like the most valuable member of the fourth grade; worthy, comforted and okay. Of course, I knew I never wanted to be on stage in front of a bunch of people again, either. And often times, I really am as dumb as a downed yule log.

But I think I can handle being a silent shepherd every odd December, or so. Thanks to a very loving and caring fourth grade teacher.