This post is just for the esteemed Reverend Doctor who reads this blog. Here's a new church tradition you'll be...er, interested in.
During the Christmas pageant at each juncture where a new set of character came up a narrator made an announcement that members of the congregation who wanted to join in were also welcome to come up. I'd noticed a side room with lots of spare costumes laid out and wondered who they were for.
They were for random kids I've never once seen at the church after a year of attending. I'm assuming these were either very nominally attending families or possibly the grandchildren of church members who were only in town for Christmas.
Altogether about 10 extra kids came onto the stage dressed as giraffes and spotted cows or Mary or shepherds or something vaguely costumey. The kids fell into one of two categories: too old to be doing this and totally pissed and hunched glaring meanly back at their parents, or, too young and utterly oblivious and running about the area like it was a playground. Two in the latter group--each about age 3--took baby Jesus out of the manger and "played" with him so roughly the real Joseph had to wrestle him away so then they sulked and grabbed handfuls of straw and threw it around.
While this went on the children's grandmother was crawling around on hands and knees in the aisle frantically whispering their names and trying to get them to leave the stage, which had absolutely no effect whatsoever, other than distracting the adults seated next to the aisle.
Here was the result: the newcomers whose parents couldn't be bothered actually bringing them to any of the rehearsals, sat in front of or completely distracted, the kids who had learned lines and come to rehearsals. First, I could barely see my own two girls because the sulky 12 yr old girl sat right in front of them center stage in order to most effectively glare at her parents and then, when it got chaotic, I had to do some quick, stern glaring and hushing to keep my own 2 yr old from joining in the baby doll wrestling and straw throwing.
It was the weirdest thing I've ever experienced. The church essentially saying--oh, this play our teen class volunteered to write the lines for and narrate, that we've been practicing with the children's choir all month, nevermind, it was nothing special, please do come on in to muck it all up. We never intended to do anything sacred or meaningful at all. It's just a silly costume party. On a stage. With a manger.
Don't get me wrong, everyone loves a good Christmas play fiasco. The kid who picks his nose or the overly enthusiastic singer/dancer belting out her lines. That's good fun right there. But this? It didn't feel like anyone got anything from this.
I didn't see any of the newcomer kids enjoying themselves. They were either too old and embarrassed or too young and oblivious. Not a single one seemed to be seeking or appreciating the experience.
(One 12-18 month old girl--tottering about in a diaper--kept pulling leaves off the poinsettias while her dad yelled, truly yelled, "stop that!" every few moments. But his yelling was actually an improvement over her first 5 minutes when she ran away from him because he kept trying to put a silvery headband on her head and she shrieked and pawed at it every time he got it on her. Why was the headband so important? Why did he think a baby in diapers should be in the play? Why did the dad keep returning her to the stage? Where was the mother? So many questions about weird entitlements and abysmally poor judgment!).
I supposed this tradition started out kindly enough. Oh, let's allow this one kid who really wanted to be in the play but couldn't come to practice to join in, can't we? Yes, those mean parents signed him up for Sunday morning soccer league but let's not hold that against him, right? It's not hard to be another sheep in the herd, after all. But somehow one exception morphed into this idea that every kid has the RIGHT to be in the play no matter how far of a stretch their participation is.
At some point I was reminded of the Easter egg hunt the church held last spring. It was our first time there and we were at the back of the line because we'd mistakenly gone to the wrong door. We got out there maybe 2 minutes after the hunt had been announced. There was not one egg left. I mean, truly, not one. But, as we were walking around because I kept thinking we were just in the wrong area, we saw a flashy SUV pull up, parents stayed inside, and a kid with a hugely overflowing basket of eggs trotted past us and got into the SUV and they roared off. Had the parents brought the kid just for the egg hunt? Not even gotten out of the car but told the kid to go get his eggs? Were they egg thieves who hit every church's hunt that day? Do you need cheap candy and trinkets if you're driving a Cadillac SUV?
There we were with our empty baskets and two sad looking girls and the parents must've seen us because their kid rudely pushed right through the middle of our group to get to the car. I saw their faces as they watched him come toward us and they absolutely did not care. (Also, they were all Asian and at first I tried to make excuses--do they not know American traditions? But, they sure knew enough of it to know when to show up and grab the eggs! And that one kid wasn't the only one with a giant overflowing basket of eggs while others had almost none.)
In the end one nice girl shared six eggs so each of my girls got three eggs in her basket or else they'd have had none. The organizers seemed flustered and I heard one of them mutter about setting guards outside next year. It was the kind of comment you'd have thought would be said over in the 'wrong' side of town about those irresponsible, thieving poor people.
This church is in a nicer section of town--more doctors and lawyers than average. But, still. Who'd have thought that being in the richer section of town meant my kids would be pushed aside by kids who already had more to begin with?
During the Christmas pageant at each juncture where a new set of character came up a narrator made an announcement that members of the congregation who wanted to join in were also welcome to come up. I'd noticed a side room with lots of spare costumes laid out and wondered who they were for.
They were for random kids I've never once seen at the church after a year of attending. I'm assuming these were either very nominally attending families or possibly the grandchildren of church members who were only in town for Christmas.
Altogether about 10 extra kids came onto the stage dressed as giraffes and spotted cows or Mary or shepherds or something vaguely costumey. The kids fell into one of two categories: too old to be doing this and totally pissed and hunched glaring meanly back at their parents, or, too young and utterly oblivious and running about the area like it was a playground. Two in the latter group--each about age 3--took baby Jesus out of the manger and "played" with him so roughly the real Joseph had to wrestle him away so then they sulked and grabbed handfuls of straw and threw it around.
While this went on the children's grandmother was crawling around on hands and knees in the aisle frantically whispering their names and trying to get them to leave the stage, which had absolutely no effect whatsoever, other than distracting the adults seated next to the aisle.
Here was the result: the newcomers whose parents couldn't be bothered actually bringing them to any of the rehearsals, sat in front of or completely distracted, the kids who had learned lines and come to rehearsals. First, I could barely see my own two girls because the sulky 12 yr old girl sat right in front of them center stage in order to most effectively glare at her parents and then, when it got chaotic, I had to do some quick, stern glaring and hushing to keep my own 2 yr old from joining in the baby doll wrestling and straw throwing.
It was the weirdest thing I've ever experienced. The church essentially saying--oh, this play our teen class volunteered to write the lines for and narrate, that we've been practicing with the children's choir all month, nevermind, it was nothing special, please do come on in to muck it all up. We never intended to do anything sacred or meaningful at all. It's just a silly costume party. On a stage. With a manger.
Don't get me wrong, everyone loves a good Christmas play fiasco. The kid who picks his nose or the overly enthusiastic singer/dancer belting out her lines. That's good fun right there. But this? It didn't feel like anyone got anything from this.
I didn't see any of the newcomer kids enjoying themselves. They were either too old and embarrassed or too young and oblivious. Not a single one seemed to be seeking or appreciating the experience.
(One 12-18 month old girl--tottering about in a diaper--kept pulling leaves off the poinsettias while her dad yelled, truly yelled, "stop that!" every few moments. But his yelling was actually an improvement over her first 5 minutes when she ran away from him because he kept trying to put a silvery headband on her head and she shrieked and pawed at it every time he got it on her. Why was the headband so important? Why did he think a baby in diapers should be in the play? Why did the dad keep returning her to the stage? Where was the mother? So many questions about weird entitlements and abysmally poor judgment!).
I supposed this tradition started out kindly enough. Oh, let's allow this one kid who really wanted to be in the play but couldn't come to practice to join in, can't we? Yes, those mean parents signed him up for Sunday morning soccer league but let's not hold that against him, right? It's not hard to be another sheep in the herd, after all. But somehow one exception morphed into this idea that every kid has the RIGHT to be in the play no matter how far of a stretch their participation is.
At some point I was reminded of the Easter egg hunt the church held last spring. It was our first time there and we were at the back of the line because we'd mistakenly gone to the wrong door. We got out there maybe 2 minutes after the hunt had been announced. There was not one egg left. I mean, truly, not one. But, as we were walking around because I kept thinking we were just in the wrong area, we saw a flashy SUV pull up, parents stayed inside, and a kid with a hugely overflowing basket of eggs trotted past us and got into the SUV and they roared off. Had the parents brought the kid just for the egg hunt? Not even gotten out of the car but told the kid to go get his eggs? Were they egg thieves who hit every church's hunt that day? Do you need cheap candy and trinkets if you're driving a Cadillac SUV?
There we were with our empty baskets and two sad looking girls and the parents must've seen us because their kid rudely pushed right through the middle of our group to get to the car. I saw their faces as they watched him come toward us and they absolutely did not care. (Also, they were all Asian and at first I tried to make excuses--do they not know American traditions? But, they sure knew enough of it to know when to show up and grab the eggs! And that one kid wasn't the only one with a giant overflowing basket of eggs while others had almost none.)
In the end one nice girl shared six eggs so each of my girls got three eggs in her basket or else they'd have had none. The organizers seemed flustered and I heard one of them mutter about setting guards outside next year. It was the kind of comment you'd have thought would be said over in the 'wrong' side of town about those irresponsible, thieving poor people.
This church is in a nicer section of town--more doctors and lawyers than average. But, still. Who'd have thought that being in the richer section of town meant my kids would be pushed aside by kids who already had more to begin with?
Comments
Post a Comment