Naive Nativity

Random and Verbal attend a proper Church Of England School. Proper in that it shuns any of that modern multi-denomination malarkey, instead brainwashing pliable minds and demonising other faiths. Okay, it’s not quite that bad but the annual nativity play is straight down the line Christian dogma with a few hedgehogs (honestly!) thrown in to provide amusement.

The intake is predominantly white and while that feels like a bad thing, there is no way I am getting into an argument about it on here. But in what must have been an inspired piece of casting, the little Muslim fella was cast as a King from the East. He did look a bit confused though when, twenty minutes in, he was surrounded by farm animals, a small baby doll and not even the slightest mention of Muhammad.

The kids are amazingly precocious – all aged between five and seven-“ able to recite dialogue from memory and sing many songs all in cute harmonies. And their accompanying hand actions are a joy to watch, especially when it all goes wrong and Rebecca from class R inadvertently pokes the teacher in the ear.

Random was a Star (literally) this year pirouetting around the stage while marshalling the first year kids. She looked remarkably assured and rather tall which came as a bit of a shock really – I mean are they meant to grow up this fast?

Verbal on the other hand has not inherited her Dad’s “Everyone! Look at ME” persona and so last week’s piano recital was met with much pre-angst and blood draining worry. I was watching through the steepled fingers of the truly terrified because I so wanted her to be ok. Not good you understand, just not stage frozen and traumatised. She gave me a look, that belied her tender seven years, which translated to “Dad, I’m shitting the bed here

But she was great. Sure she missed some notes and so it was a contemporary take on Twinkle Twinkle Little Star, but it was worth all the naked terror to see how rightly proud she was.

The problem with the school hall = other than the smell which transports you back thirty years and has you wondering if you’d done your homework-“ is the dust and grit that flies about. On both occasions where the kids have been performing, something’s stuck in my eye and caused it to water. Odd that.

Still It’s the Christmas Disco tonight. Which allows for me to smuggle in a couple of cans of lager and check out whether the poor bairns do in fact dance like their dad.

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