MARY Rose was old enough to doubt Santa that year. But she was still young enough to believe in the magic of Christmas.
So when she opened the front door and saw the Christmas tree, it seemed
perfectly natural. She didn't ask where the tree came from or why it was
there. She simply announced: "Dad, the tree is here."
I was the one with all the questions. What tree? What is it doing outside
our door? We didn't order any tree. Who left it here?
When I didn't reply, Mary Rose spoke up again. "The tree is here, Dad. I
think I'm going to need your help bringing it in."
So I went to help her. We never did find out who left that tree for us.
There was a card with it, but it wasn't signed. And none of our neighbors
had seen anyone leaving the tree at our door.
AS WE hauled the tree into the living room, I could tell this wasn't going
to be any ordinary Christmas. But I had no idea what lay ahead.
Besides being a bit of a skeptic about Santa, Mary Rose was already
outspoken. She had started politely confronting people with fur coats. And
she suggested to parents who tethered their children that such leases
belonged only on pets.
At school, she sought a meeting with the principal to discuss why one wing
of the school was locked and the children kept inside. "They are kids,
too," she told him. "Open the door so they can come out and we can go in."
She was also growing into a fine young feminist. Once, when I had mixed up
the main characters in the Song of Hiawatha, she assured me that wasn't
such a bad thing. In the original story, it is the young man Hiawatha who
carries the young woman Minnehaha across the creek. But in a column I
wrote, it appeared that Minnehaha had carried Hiawatha. "That's okay,
Dad," Mary Rose said. "Minnehaha was a pretty strong woman. I'm sure she
could have carried Hiawatha across the creek."
Mary Rose brought this same mixture of awe and sensibility to the Nativity
pageant at our church. This was an annual affair which brought all kinds of
children into a recreation of the story of Jesus' birth.
The easiest part was finding someone to play Mary. For some reason, there
always seemed to be plenty of little girls who wanted to play that part.
The hardest part was always Joseph. There must have been a shortage of
little boys during those years. Finding a Joseph was always like looking
for a lost contact lens on a gymnasium floor. There seemed to be little
hope.
AND EVEN when you found a Joseph, bizarre things could happen. Just the
year before, Joseph had abandoned his post at Mary's side and run out of
the church. It turned out that he had been batted one too many times
by the wings of an angel and just left.
In between these two central roles, there were the animals, shepherds and
wise men. There were always enough children to play these parts, but there
was a lot of negotiation over the details..
For example, there will plenty of little cruisers who wanted to play
animals, many getting a second chance to wear their Halloween suits. Or
pajamas which looked like pig or bear costumes.
But I wasn't prepared for the mother who asked if her son could wear his
Ninja turtle suit. "I don't think there were any Ninjas at Bethlehem that
year," I told her.
"He's willing to compromise," she replied. "I've talked with him and he
said he'd skip wearing the shell if he could be in the pageant."
Shepherds weren't that difficult to find either. But they never seemed to
be able to keep their beards on. And they couldn't control their sheep --
the smallest children -- who were always wandering off.
AND THE wise men? Well, this was going to be the year. "I want to be one
of the wise guys," Mary Rose announced.
"I think all three were men," I responded.
"How do you know," Mary Rose responded. "One of them could have been a
girl," she replied. "Besides you don't have enough boys."
She had a point there, I thought. I asked her what she knew about the wise
men. "Well, each one of them brought a gift to Jesus. One brought gold,
another brought Frankenstein and one brought a mirror."
I laughed and tried to give Mary Rose a little more information about the
gifts. But she wasn't listening. Her skeptical side had already framed a
question: "Dad, why would that one wise guy bring the Baby Jesus a
Frankenstein? That doesn't sound very nice."
I tried to explain that it wasn't a Frankenstein that he brought, but I
didn't get very far. Mary Rose had moved on. "So are you going to let me
be one. Can I be the wise woman with the mirror."
"Okay," I said, "but you'll have to wear a beard."
"That's great," Mary Rose replied. "Then afterwards, I can shave it off
like you do yours."
So that Christmas, we had a Nativity pageant with all the usual
people, plus a Ninja turtle without his shell. And when it came to the
final scene, Jesus was visited by two wise guys -- and a wise woman with a
mirror.