Star

It started one Thursday. It was lunchtime. Aldgate.

A work colleague gorging on sushi was highlighting his relief that both his children were appearing in the same nativity play at school. It meant that he only need to sit through one school performance rather than two.

I’ve never had kids, so I have never had to ride the emotional gauntlet of a school performance for a loved one. I’m sure it has its rewards. I have no doubt. Pride. Passion. The desire to show support for offspring whether they or the play is good, bad or indifferent. It’s a rites of passage thing. But. I think it is safe to say, they must be pretty painful to sit through. The missed lines. The lack of emotion in delivery. The embarrassment and the crying.

Regardless, I do recall sitting through other school class performances twice a year. Generally, my memories involve having a numb or – worse – sore arse from sitting cross legged on polished, parquet flooring for what seemed like days. I do not have any great recall of disasters or mishaps taking place that I can share. No £250 cheques from Harry Hill will be winging their way to me from my ancient VHS collection. No embarrassed friends falling off the stage, no painful fluffing of lines. Certainly, no drama.

But I do recall some of my own performances. And I’ve been thinking about them, recently.

Jeez… I can still remember some of the lines I poured out by rote; as a narrator in Joseph & His Amazing Technicolor Dreamcoat; the silent, black clad Ghost of Christmas Future in A Christmas Carol; or part of a choir singing Abba’s ‘Thank-you For The Music’ in something that I cannot totally recall. No leading parts, but occasionally centre stage. And the memories are largely warm. With hindsight, I quite enjoyed it. But, then, I’m still relatively happy standing up and presenting ‘shit’ at work or beyond, today. Introverted; sure. Nervous; sure. But unfazed. I guess, I like the sound of my own voice.

Friday. On a train. To Bristol. Head full of cold. Feeling slightly sorry for myself.

I read this on Twitter:

I love this.

It was an old tweet when I read it. It deserved more replies, more shares. Obviously, I did what needed to be done (and, obviously, I didn’t respond on Twitter or share with my 4 stupid followers), I took a screenshot and threw it out for feedback on WhatsApp.

I got two responses.

Two pitifully short responses.

Both lacked detail. Neither really entered the spirit of Joanne’s tweet.

I think it is fair to say that they were disengaged. Please note that the second is from someone who has history correcting my grammar and spelling. 

Last week, I discussed the tweet with two other work colleagues. One was unsure and couldn’t remember (yeah… right!), the other had, at times been a Shepherd, one of the Three Wise Men, the Angel Gabriel and either Mary or Joseph, I cannot recall. She had gone to a village school. I hope that all these parts were undertaken in a single year; in a single performance. Good, bad or indifferent, that would have impressed me.

I may have been disappointed with the responses I received, but I was still inspired. The tweet, the concept stirred memories. Happy memories…

It’s just before Christmas. I’m 5 years old.

I’d guess it was the last week of term. We were probably about to break up for two weeks of fun and festivities. Collectively, I’d imaging that my class was a bundle of near improbable excitement that was, at times, a living hell to manage by teachers and parents, alike. Regardless, the excitement would have been honest and innocent. Uncontrived. And wonderful.

The details of my school class nativity are largely lost. We had someone playing Mary. We had someone playing Joseph. We would have had 3 Kings and some shepherds (take note of the spelling - HT). I’m certain of that. Not that I remember much with clarity other than my own part and the little sequence within the performance, you understand. It was a long time ago. But, however progressive they may have been as teachers, I do not think that Mrs Reynolds & Mrs Marshall had deconstructed the story that much. They had deconstructed it a little, as you will read in a moment, but the key characters and events were reflected as our parents and school Headmistress – Mrs Kemp – would have expected.

My key scene was toward the start of the play. I probably reappeared later on, toward the end. Certainly, if I were writing a traditional nativity for a school or group of close friends for private performance, I would make my role a recurring character. Not because I would want to hog the stage, but because it’s quite an important role within the story.

I’m digressing, aren’t I? I sometimes do.

You want to hear the detail…

I am the Star.

I’m dressed in my pants and vest. White. Slung over my shoulders are two large stars cut out from card that is gold on one side, silver on the reverse. You remember the stuff. We all used at some point or other. The silver sides shines outward, covering my chest and back. Glitter may have been applied at the edges. The top point, of five, covers my chin and mouth.

Looking back, I think that the costume was a statement of solidarity to all those who have ever arrived at school on a day where PE is on the timetable, having forgotten their kit. The point of the star covering my chin and mouth as a deliberate representation of the objections and horror of being forced to ‘do’ PE in their pants and vest falling on the deaf ears of cruel teachers. It was a representation of the powerlessness and torment of being a child.

Having paused to think about that again, I may be reading too much into the meaning of the costume. It’s far more likely that the costume was maybe, just, a little bit ill fitting.

We were a big class. Most of the children were playing peripheral roles. Sheep. And trees. But most joined me in my ‘big’ scene.

When I appeared, a group gathered around me and sang ‘Twinkle Twinkle Little Star’. The shepherds, the sheep. The trees. They moved in a close circle around me, singing. I think that I stood on a chair or a box so that I stood well above them. In the sky. I’m certain that I remained at this vantage point from my first appearance until the final scene. Toward a corner of the stage. But in the light. The silver, the glitter would have sparkled and shined.

Why ‘Twinkle Twinkle’? I don’t know. I don’t recall the rehearsals where it may have been discussed with us. So, I will hazard a guess that the song was easier to teach 5 year old kids to sing than ‘O Little Star of Bethlehem’. Right or wrong. I’m sure it was beautiful.

And that was it. That was my performance. One performance only. For our parents. Nativity done.

But let us look back at Joanne’s tweet.

The idea that a role, within this most traditional of plays, shaping your future lives is the bit that really caught my imagination. Social determination through the haphazard casting of a school play at the age of 5. It grabs my attention, even if it doesn’t grab yours. I bet there are more than the 1600 words written here that could discuss and explore that concept in more detail. Earnestly. Regardless of whether Joanne believes it or not, I’m sure that there are those who would be able to provide a convincing argument that it is true. A dozen others who would call it ‘Bull’.

But I’m running with it. It’s Christmas, after all. I’ll show it some goodwill.

So I will address the perfunctory responses of my two friends:

Lukey. Yeah. Obvious. The role explains his philosophical outlook on life and his ability to inspire others with his insight. His comfortable and natural gravitas mixed with humour and warmth. The Wise Man. 

HT. The ill-spelled Shepherd. Kind. Caring. Compassionate. Loyal and dedicated. A natural guide. Seeks to help or protect the vulnerable. That works.

But where does that leave me?

I don’t want to linger on being ‘The Star’. My ego won’t let me.

I’m shy. I’m introvert. However much I may want or crave to be the centre of attention, I know that I cannot cope with it so run away. Face it; I find it a million times easier to write this down and anonymously chuck it out in the ether than tell someone face to face. That is how it goes. This is me.

So, let’s think back to the performance, itself. The shepherds, the sheep and the trees all dancing around me. The light sparkling in the glitter. I can imagine the light and the shadows. The clumsy, ill co-ordinated movement of the kids around me. Awkwardly dancing. Out of time. Singing. Out of tune. Shuffling around in hastily and simply made costumes. Dressing gowns. Tea towels. Cotton wool. Stuck on beards. Stumbling slightly, unintentionally bumping into one another.

Is that my life as an adult? Is that where I am predetermined to sit in life? On a chair, looking down?

Is this the life?

You can look at that any way you wish. It’s difficult to say. There are some positives and negatives to see in there. It’s all about perspective when boiled right down. So, I will seek the positive and take it. It’s not so bad. I live my life aware that everyone else around me is stumbling around trying to find their own way and their own direction. Often directionless. Usually less secure or sure of themselves than they appear. And for the most part, it’s OK. For, I am the same. Obviously, I no longer spend much time strolling around in my pants and vest. Truthfully, I don't even own a vest. And, certainly, the songs have changed as the years have passed. But, I still hear music everywhere I go. Even when I'm alone and sitting in silence, my surroundings sing to me. So, at this level, my life has continued along this path since that heady Christmas day as a 5 year old.

So, yes. I will say that Joanne is right. The role that we played in our first Nativity predetermines our future selves.

Which leaves me with one thought.

I wonder what happened to the trees.