The Angel and the Goat

go site We had Sunday school classes after the morning service.  Mrs Beebee and Mrs Eames were the faithful duo, the glue that held us all together with the stamps we were given for attendance and good behaviour. They taught us hymns from the Golden Bells. Thanks to their dedication , we knew most of the hymns by heart.

agence de rencontre traduction espagnol Every Christmas, there was great excitement as the Christ Church Sunday School got ready to do the annual Nativity play. Every year I waited in vain to play a significant role in the play.  The glorious and coveted Angel Gabriel’s role always eluded me.  I would look on in envy, when the Angel Gabriel appeared on stage. She wore a flowing white dress with sequins on it that shimmered under the bright lights that heralded her announcement about the birth of Christ. She  had a pair of magnificent wings that were stitched onto the back of her dress. A pair of wings that arched majestically behind her. A pair of wings she she could spread at will by pulling at a pair of ribbons attached to her flowing gown. A tiara sat on top of the ringlets that crowned her head. In her hand she had a wand that she waved as she flitted across the stage.  Being a trained ballerina, she would pirouette on her toes and glide across the stage.  Here , there and everywhere. She was all of an angel and a fairy rolled into one. An epitome of Grace . And everything that I wanted to be. One year, I remember, I was a goat again and what was worse, I did not even have a costume to dignify my four footed status. I was mortified. I was covered with a white bed sheet on which “GOAT” was written with a blue marker.  I crouched in front of the stable on all fours and tried not to scowl.  As instructed, I raised my head periodically to go “Baaaaaaaaaaaaa, Baaaaaaaaa”. My mum and Dad never complained. They just smiled and went about their business. Just do what they tell you to, Susie. Don’t sulk…Do it well, they said. If they want you to Baaaaa , Baaaaa well, they said.  They were just pleased that the Pathriar’s daughter had not been exalted in any way.

guadagnare con il trading One year, to my utter delight, I got to be one of the three Kings. I had a crown on my head and I had one of my Mum’s beautiful sarees draped around me and belted at the waist. I carried a carved Kashmiri box depicting one of the gifts of the three Kings. I even had a piece of dialogue to deliver and it did not go ‘Baaaaaaaa”.  I walked on stage with a spring in my step , delivered my lines with flourish and placed my gift at the stable, where the baby Jesus doll lay. I was a king. A very happy King. I was not a goat .  

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