25 Days of Memories, Day 12

Some stories are hard to tell than others.  It all depends on my mood, really, and how much I’m willing to write.  But everything I’ve read is that writers write, period.  And not because it’s this huge overwhelming passion (though for many, I assume it is), but because they’ve developed the discipline to write.  Discipline is everything.  Great…one of the character traits I lack in…

Anyhoo, today’s post features a 10-year-old me, a trash bag, and an unforgettable Christmas party.

First, allow me to make a general statement that grownups make kids do some pretty stupid things for their own enjoyment.  When I was 10, there was a Christmas party for all of The Salvation Army pastors in the North and South Carolina region.  (Did I mention that my parents were pastors with The Salvation Army?)  My mom dressed us all up in Christmas-y wear and off we went to the hotel in which the party was being held.  That year, all of the pastors’ children were made to perform “The Night Before Christmas” poem for the adults’ entertainment.  More trouble than it was worth, if you ask me.  Not only did we have to go on stage with little to no rehearsal, but parents were responsible for their kids’ costumes.  I was cast as the role of Ma, and Josh Powell, who I barely knew at the time, was cast as Pa.  We had to awkwardly be in a fake bed together and mime actions as my brother read the poem.  (Consequently, Josh and I went on a mission trip together to Malaysia, and have become great friends.  Small, small world.)

My sister, and this truly is the greatest part of this story, was cast as one of two sugarplum fairies.  Remember what I said about parents providing the costumes for their children?  Well the other sugarplum fairy was beautifully dressed in this costume of white tulle decorated with lovely fake sugarplums with exaggerated sugar crystals.  Truly a thing of beauty…plucked right out of the Nutcracker ballet or something.  Then there was Chelsea.

Now, if I were my mom, I would have done the same thing.  After all, the costume did only have one use in it, and the audience wouldn’t care how 5-year-old Chelsea was dressed.  So my mom, in all of her resourcefulness, took a black 15-gallon trash bag and cut a holes for the head and arms.  Then she proceeded to either tape or glue (yeah, not really sure which…sorry) actual gumdrops to the child’s black trash bag.  It was ingenious, to say the least, but put beside the other girl in her prim and proper costume, one couldn’t help bot spot the difference between the two.  It wasn’t mortifying that my sister was dressed so conversely to the other girl.  It was simply hilarious that my sister was dressed in a trash bag.  Stole the show, it did.

Again, if I were my mother, I would have done the same thing, because really, what would it have mattered? And I’m personally glad she did because now I have a reason to remember that night!  I brought up this memory to Josh at some point during the year that we attended the same college.  All I did was mention how we awkwardly played Ma and Pa when we were 10.  He busted out laughing upon his remembrance of how Chelsea was dressed…and I had forgotten all about that little, hilarious detail.  So Josh, this post is for you.  Thanks for reminding me of the frivolities of our youth.

2 Responses to “25 Days of Memories, Day 12”
  1. Debby says:

    I’m not convinced at all that the top picture isn’t Chelsea!

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