When I was 9, we lived in a teeny, tiny town in Northern California. By “teeny, tiny” I mean it was population 50 (FIVE ZERO). My school had two classrooms: one for Kindergarten through 2nd grade and one for 3rd through 8th. I was in 4th grade and so in the older class. We had 12 children. For high school, they had to be bussed into town an hour and a half away.
The times were different then (although just the 1970s) and my class put on a Christmas pageant telling the story of the birth of the baby Jesus. I can’t believe there wasn’t a big stink about it, but I guess in a town of 50, the 38 people left that weren’t IN the pageant were mostly fine with it. Had it been larger, I’m sure my parents would have objected, as we are not religious, but what’s the point of making a point to 38 people?
So we did a play in the front of our classroom one night. I was the angel who blessed the Baby Jesus (a doll) with one line. My mom, who like me does NOT sew, had to come up with a costume. So we went with one of Dad’s white t-shirts and my hip 1970s tall white Wonder Woman boots. I had one line (I can’t remember it now, but I know that I rocked it then.
But right after my scene was over, I forgot that they were changing the set around and accidentally ended up on the show side of the divider for the next act. So I panicked inside for a bit and then went with it and pretended I was an angel from above looking over them. I made “praying hands” and kept nodding and smiling at all of the actors on stage.