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Jackie Little: The Carol Concert

My Life As A Domestic Ogress

The Carol Concert

Scoop's Jackie Little ponders the absurdities of modern life.

Oh come ye resentful
Joyless and recalcitrant
Oh come ye, Oh come ye to Raumati South

Let me explain. We the family, had been looking forward - soooOO looking forward - to the Kids for Kids Carol concert . A real Christmas Carol concert the like of which I had not seen since I was at school myself.

The middle child came home one day with the challenge:" You speak Scottish don't you?"

A trifle bemused, I ventured that though I do not speak Gaelic, I am indeed Scottish and generally understand the vernacular of my fellow countrymen if that was what he was driving at.

"So what does 'Feliz Navidad' mean then?" demanded my linguistically challenged little darling

Once I got over my chortling fit I learnt to my great delight that he had been selected to participate in the inter-school Christmas concert.

I was further enchanted (not to mention amazed) to find when presented with the song sheet that it actually had Christmas Carols on it. Real Christmas Carols, complete with daring references to the birth of Christ and all that contentious stuff.

I was very excited. It would be like a transportation to my own joyous Christmas past, naff school Nativity plays, Christmas card post boxes at school, gorgeous little innocents singing amongst the home made decorations etc.

It was a big deal and as the night approached, a fairly major topic of conversation.

And Then … then the budding chorister hit one of his perverse streaks and announced that it was Not To Be.

The ensuing dialogue went something like this:

But why? We've all been looking forward to it so much"

"I get stage fright"

But darling, every one gets that and you know, we will be the only ones looking at you. Everyone else will be looking at their own kids



And so it went. Granny tried to persuade him via a lengthy trip to the beach but to no avail: "I am not doing it and that's that!!!"

So, regretfully we decided not to buy the (quite pricey) tickets. (Thus verifying my theory. You don't go to watch other people's kids.)

About a week later (would you Adam and Eve it?), the boy was demanding morning tea to take to rehearsal at the chosen venue.

With some exasperation I explained there was absolutely no point in going to rehearsal if he was not going to take part whereupon he performed an astonishing about turn.

He was going to do it after all. My White-Blond, Blue-eyed boy was going to be the idyllic little choir boy I had pictured since the day he was born (well maybe since he was old enough to grow hair).

I was full of renewed enthusiasm and excitement.

The Box Office, of course, was out of tickets.

Grinding my teeth with frustration I phoned one of his fellow chorister's family to ask if he could tag along with them and they kindly agreed.

Even then, the beautiful new shirt I had been saving for weeks for his debut was rejected . Favourite face-down-in-the-mattress hissy fit and all, he demanded instead to wear his revolting old camouflage T-shirt.

Peace and Goodwill? Bring on the New Year.

Happily his friend's Mum eventually persuaded him to wear the new linen by means of "peer pressure". Not sure what that entailed exactly, but was too grateful not to mention exhausted, to enquire.

And so the show went on, sans parents, grandparents and siblings ( I suspect to the latter's secret relief) and the boy, according to his music mistress acquitted himself well.

No video cameras allowed of course. Not even an official one from the school. So my dreams of seeing my angelic (looking at least) little choir boy warbling Hark The Herald came to naught again.

Ah well. Maybe next year.


Jackie Little is a Scoop staff reporter

© Scoop Media

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