Village Squire, 1978-12, Page 26kids. Usually when folks got together for card parties or
receptions, the kids were shooed off to bed and we missed all the
stories that were told about pioneer times or the time
MacDonald's bull got loose on Easter Sunday right outside the
Catholic church with ladies in their spring finery jumping and
screaming and running to get out of the way. But this night we
were there too.
We all knew of course that it wasn't really Santa Claus.
Anyone who had any doubts had them cleared up when Mike
Finnigan burst out proudly one night: "That's my Uncle Jamie."
Some of the adults laughed. Some were angry at their secret
being exposed. Some looked bewildered at what to say.
We knew too that the gifts this Santa brought were really
presents bought by our parents and put in the big bag to be
brought in after the concert when the teacher went to the door
and said rather loudly. "I think I can hear someone coming."
which brought almost instantly a far off "Ho, Ho". getting closer
until a rather tattered, forlorn Santa Claus, his stomach
threatening to sag around his knees, entered the room. made a
circle of the room trying to steal a kiss from the prettiest young
ladies, then sat down to distribute presents. Knowing this Santa
was a forgery didn't bother us. particularly. Everybody knew
that the real Santa was too busy this time of year to be able to
visit a dumb Christmas concert in a little country village.
There was a buzz of excitement at the school that day.
Mathematics and spelling and grammar got short shrift in favour
of putting the finishing touches on costumes organizing the
entrance and exit of the various acts in our show without having
gigantic collisions. and getting the school house spruced up so
parents wouldn't think the teacher was sloppy with public
property. Miss Helms was very interested in the annual concert
and our concert had been the best in recent years of any in the
township. It pleased the students although it didn't always
please the inspector who felt too much time was being wasted
from reading, writing and arithmetic.
I was to have a star place in the concert this year. I was to be
the narrator in a dramatized version of 'Twas the Night Before
Christmas. I'd been working for weeks to make sure I knew the
lines off by heart but in the final dress rehearsal that afternoon
my knees began knocking at the prospect of facing all those
people, (there would be at least 35 people in the audience). 1
forgot my lines and Miss Helms had to prompt me about every
other line. By the time the rehearsal was over I was sure I
couldn't possibly go on stage that night and Miss Helms looked
like she wished she'd been a nurse. not a teacher.
I thought for a few moments after supper that night of
developing some instant illness to keep me home from the
concert that night. But Betty was bubbling at the prospect of
going to the school for the first time and talking about how some
day she was going to be the star of a Christmas concert when she
was old enough to go to school just like her brother. Mother and
father too were anxious to go. I'd built up my own part in the
concert so much in the last few weeks that they wanted to see
this performance. 1t made me all the more sure I wanted to be ill.
1 tried on a few symptoms at the supper table. to sort of ease
them into the idea.
"Mother, my stomach hurts."
"You're just excited because of tonight. You'll be all right."
"Doesn't my forehead feel hot?"
"You've just been sitting too close to the stove reading."
Obviously she wasn't buying it. I made one more try after
supper. "I feel like I'm getting a headache."
"Lie down for a few minutes while I get Betty dressed and
you'll be all right."
I resigned myself to my fate after that. Without sticking rn
finger down my throat I couldn't think of anything that would
really convince her 1 was sick.
I went. I sat there fidgeting until it was my turn to get up and
then my throat went dry but somehow. when I got out there. it
wasn't that hard at all. Off to the side I could see Miss Helms.
fingers crossed. almost eyes crossed as she concentrated so
hard, willing me to get it right. And I did. And when I sat dov. n
24 Village Squire. December 1978
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