My wife supervises the rehabilitation department of a children’s hospital. This is the first Christmas she has worked there. Every Christmas the hospital puts on a pageant. It’s the only chance that some of these disabled kids will ever have to be in a Christmas pageant.
The cast of the pageant isn’t exclusively hospital patients. The therapists who produce the pageant also like to include non-disabled kids from the community, so that the hospital patients get a chance to hang around with normal kids. My two daughters, ages 7 and 3, were part of this year’s pageant. They’ve been going to frequent rehearsals for several weeks.
The pageant was presented yesterday. The cast included some Down syndrome children, some autistic children, some children who couldn’t walk, and a little girl with an extreme (but reconstructed) cleft palate. The audience included a little girl, maybe five or six, dressed up in a frilly, gold-colored dress, who seemed sad and may have been blind. Another little girl in the audience had a portable IV.
The program itself was a pretty typical Christmas pageant. It included: A skit entitled “The Magic Toyshop” (I didn’t pay much attention to it, since my kids weren’t in it); one entitled “The Kingdom of Sweets,” which consisted of excerpts from the Nutcracker (using dancers borrowed from the local ballet school); an enactment of “The Night Before Christmas;” an enactment of “The Twelve Days of Christmas;” and at the end, a re-enactment of the Nativity scene.
I watched most of the pageant through the viewfinder of my video camera, trying to focus on my own children. And it wasn’t easy, because I had to lean back and forth around the guy in front of me, who was watching the pageant through the viewfinder of his own video camera.
During “The Twelve Days of Christmas,” my younger daughter was a golden ring, and she got to stand up and twirl around prettily every time the song came to the drawn-out “FIVE. . . GOL. . . DEN. . .RINGS. . .” part of the song. There was another golden-ring girl who appeared to have Down syndrome who enjoyed jumping up and twirling so much that she would start early and wouldn’t stop.
During “The Twelve Days of Christmas,” I heard from time to time what sounded for all the world like the honking of a goose. I didn’t think much of it, since the song does include repeated references to six geese a-laying. But after the song was over, and the cast was just standing there accepting the applause, I noticed that the honking continued. It was coming from a boy who appeared to have multiple disabilities. Apparently, honking was just what he did and didn’t have anything in particular to do with the song.
The final scene was a re-enactment of the Nativity, with a recording of someone singing “Silent Night” playing in the background. My younger daughter was not in this scene, but my older one was. She was dressed as an angel, with a long, satiny white dress and a white, fuzzy halo. Her job was to just stand there. She was beautiful. And—by the grace of God or random good fortune—so healthy.
The wise men, dressed in resplendent gold costumes, came with their gifts for the baby Jesus. The first was a large boy, probably in his teens. He felt his way forward as he walked with a cane, and a helper led him where he needed to go, which included walking to center stage. There, he turned toward the audience, and looking beyond them with sightless eyes, held up a small bag of brightly colored, shiny cloth for the audience to see. He then turned and was led back to the baby Jesus (played by one of the hospital’s infant patients). The blind wise man presented his gift to the man holding the baby, and then his helper led him off to the side.
The next wise man was a slight boy with a very thin face, in his early teens, I’d guess. He used two black orthopedic canes to walk. His walking looked like a struggle, as he threw his elbows and hips and shoulders out at odd angles as he moved from one step to another. He, too, walked to the center of the stage, faced the audience, and held up his little bag of shiny cloth. He then turned and made his way to the man holding the baby, gave him the bag, and then lurched off to one side.
The third wise man was another teenager. It looked to my untrained eye that he had cerebral palsy, or something like it. His head and arms and hands were held at odd angles. A man stood behind him, held him up, and helped him walk to the center of the stage. Like the two other wise men before him, he turned to the audience, held up his bag as though presenting a toast, and then, with his helper, hobbled over to the man holding the baby.
To my eye, the face of each of the three wise men held an expression of determination, but not triumph, as he faced the audience and held up the gift he was about to present to the Christ child. I could imagine that each was saying, “This is just the way it is for me. I go through this every day.”
After the third wise man presented his gift, the mistress of ceremonies thanked us all for coming, and the show was over. The actors stayed on the stage to have their pictures taken, and the audience was milling around. I stayed seated for quite awhile, looking at the disabled children and at my healthy angel-daughter and thinking of the three wise men. I considered tearing up but decided against it. The honking boy started up again.
I'm happy for the hospital kids who got to be in a Christmas pageant. I'm glad my kids got the opportunity to learn about children who are different. I hope my kids contributed in some small way to a pleasant experience for the hospital kids. Most of all, I'm grateful that my kids were outsiders and not patients. And I hope with all my heart that the same is true next Christmas.
