A Socially Awkward Christmas

In the Christian preschool classroom where I "teach" (my "teaching" usually consists of telling one and two-year-olds that it's not nice to sit on their friends) there is a bulletin board arrangement of a nativity scene. It's a very nice kid-friendly bulletin board nativity scene, but the more I look at it, the more I get a little freaked out by it. It has all the characters, Mary and Joseph and Baby Jesus, the shepherds (complete with sheep), the wisemen, the angels, and even a camel and donkey for good measure. Now, every one of these characters, except for the wisemen (for some unknown reason--maybe just because they're, ya know, wise or something) have these ridiculously huge happy face smiles plastered on their faces. The shepherds and the sheep have "the smile." Mary and Joseph have "the smile." The donkey and the camel have "the smile." Even the angels and Baby Jesus have "the smile." The more I look at them, the more freaked out I get...so I just try not to look at them. Btw, Baby Jesus also has a little halo around his head, which one of my two-year-olds referred to as "Baby Jesus' hat." Cute.




My roommate has a little nativity scene. She put Christmas lights all around it, and I must admit, it looks very pretty. See:





But the more I look at this nativity scene, the more I think, "Why are Mary, Joseph, and Baby Jesus all holding their hands that way?" Are they trying to look holy (this is the most likely conclusion)? Are they extending their arms in surprise and alarm (I suppose Baby Jesus was like other babies and had the startle reflex, but that doesn't explain Mary and Joseph's behavior)? Are Mary and Joseph playing peek-a-boo with Baby Jesus (wait...that's not in the Bible!)? I'm not sure why they look that way.

Because the way I figure, most representations we have of that first Christmas are probably not very accurate. I mean, this goes beyond the simple idea that the wisemen probably didn't even come into the picture until Jesus was about 2 years old. That song "Silent Night" is beautiful, and quite frankly, I just don't feel like it's Christmas without hearing and singing it--but it's probably not a very accurate song. It probably wasn't a silent night at all.

I blame my attitudes on the fact that when I was 8 years old, I got to play Gladys Herdman in a school production of "The Best Christmas Pageant Ever" (if you haven't read the book by Barbara Robinson, you should--it's only about 100 pages and too cute!). The Herdmans were this family of scruffy kids who bullied everyone else and whom no one liked. They somehow got mixed up in the church's Christmas pageant. The oldest Herdman sister played Mary, and her brother played Joseph. They didn't act like the nativity scene Mary and Joseph. Gladys (that was me) played an angel with a crooked halo and wings (and dirty sneakers showing beneath her angel robe) who went around pushing the shepherds. While I don't think angels go around pushing people, I do think the nativity scene was pretty different from what most good little Christians seem to believe.

Joseph had this task of trying to find his pregnant wife a place to HAVE A BABY. I don't know how many places he went to look for a room. There were no nice clean hospitals with NICUs. There were no state of the art birthing centers. Shoot, Joseph couldn't even dig up a warm bed for Mary. I don't know how many innkeepers he spoke to, and I don't know how long it took him to even find one willing to offer him a stable--but I imagine all of it was fairly awkward. And so the Christ child, the Messiah, the King of Kings and Lord of Lords, God in the flesh had to be born in a barn. Joseph probably wasn't a very good midwife. Mary didn't have an epidural and probably wasn't well-practiced in lamaze. Jesus was probably covered in placenta and baby goo when Mary wrapped him in swaddling clothes and laid him in a manger. She probably breast fed him, too, since formula kinda sorta hadn't been invented yet. I don't know why, but most good little Christians would probably get a little uncomfortable about the idea of Mary breast-feeding their infant Savior.

Let's back this up about nine months. Mary was minding her own business when suddenly this angel comes and tells her she's going to have a baby--and not just any baby--the "Son of God." How awkward would it be to have to tell an angel, "Um, how can this be, because I haven't had 'relations?'"

And then after Mary starts showing, poor Joseph thinks his betrothed cheated on him. He only believes differently because an angel tells him in a dream that this child was concieved of the Holy Spirit. An angel. In a dream. Right. The only way someone wouldn't think this was a crazy story was if they had heard it all their lives--which is the case with most Christians. It's a crazy story, one which I happen to believe--because as the angel told Mary, "Nothing is impossible with God."

By the way, I don't want to get into the wisemen's part of the story too much, but they had angels talk to them in dreams, too. They also followed a star. Most of this behavior wouldn't sit too well with modern Christians.

I do want to talk about the shepherds. Shepherds, well, they took care of sheep. They probably smelled like sheep because they probably lived and slept and ate amongst their sheep. I'll bet they talked to their sheep more than they talked to other people. When they did talk to other people, it probably consisted of talking to other shepherds:

"Hey, Bob, you seen any 'bars' lately?"
"Sure, Fred, I killed me three 'bars' last week. Them be tryin' to eat my sheeps, agin."
"Good lands, Bob. Them 'bars' be a real problum. I done 'kilt' me a 'lyun' a few days ago with my new Red Rider slingyshot."
"A 'lyun', you say? Man, these here fields not be as safe as they used to be."
"Yeah, lucky I got Ol' Blue. She's got a compass in the stock."

Yeah.

Of all the socially awkward people in those times, I'm sure shepherds were near the top of the list. So imagine being a dirty shepherd out in a field, when suddenly an angel appears. Scripture says the shepherds were "sore afraid."

Um, duh.

Let me just put it out there that the images of angels we see around Christmastime (and the rest of the year, too) are probably not very accurate. They aren't scrawny kids with crooked haloes and dirty sneakers beneath their robes, but they also aren't pretty blonde ladies in white dresses with tinsel halos and real faux feather wings and body glitter, either. According to most Biblical descriptions, they were pretty scary looking. For some reason they had like 82 wings to cover various parts of their bodies, and they had a lot of eyes. So, yeah, I'd be afraid if I saw one of those, too. It would be scarier than the creepy bulletin board "smiley" nativity scene...

But the angel's message is pretty amazing. "Fear not, for I bring you good news of great joy which will be for all the people (I'm assuming that means that smelly, socially awkward shepherds are included), for today in the city of David has been born to you a Savior who is Christ the Lord."

That would have been enough to faze me, but the angel continued:

"Oh, and here's a sign. The baby is going to be wrapped in rags and lying in a manger."

"Bob, did that there angul just say that Christ is born and lying in a manger?"
"I think he did, Fred, but that be what our sheeps eat out of!"
"Well, I'll be. Why the angul be tellin' us? If I'd be an angul, I'd be tellin' kings, not shepherds."
"I dunno, but look, there's a lot more of 'em."

I picture a scene in heaven. "Aww, God, why does Gabriel get to go? Gabriel gets all the cool messenger jobs." "God, can't I go, too. I want to tell the shepherds your news." "Me, too, God!" "Please let us go!" "We want to proclaim your glory to the meek shepherds!"

And God smiled and said, "Okay. Everybody get out there and give those shepherds I chose a good show."

And so all the angels, whatever they looked like, were priviledged to tell those simple shepherds, "Glory to God in the highest, and on earth peace to men on whom His favor rests."

Whenever I read this Bible verse in Luke 2, I always get angry with myself because I opted to take Spanish in college instead of Greek. I can't remember much Spanish beyond "Donde esta bano," so that was a waste (no pun intended), but I also don't know enough Greek to translate the phrase "on earth peace to men on whom His favor rests." Does that mean there's peace on earth for those whom God finds favor with, or does that mean there's peace on earth to men because God's favor is with them? Various translations and commentaries offer various insight into this passage--but really, I've come to the conclusion that as far as I'm concerned, it doesn't greatly matter.

Because God came down to make peace with us, and we can have that peace if we choose it. That's the point of Christmas. We try to clean it up with all our happy and holy nativity scenes. We try to pretty it up by making it seem that Baby Jesus never cried or spit up or had a poopy diaper. But Baby Jesus was probably just like any other baby because God came down in the form of a human--he knew flesh just like the rest of us (even if he never sinned). Jesus had body odor. Jesus probably had diarrhea. Jesus felt pain and joy, and Jesus lived and died. Death just couldn't hold him, because nothing is impossible with God. All things are impossible for us--that's why God had to intervene and make peace with those who had rebelled against him. That's the point of Christmas.

And the first people who got to experience this gift of peace were those dirty, awkward shepherds. And the first resting place for the King was a feeding trough. God has always been in the business of choosing the weak and foolish to shame the strong and wise. That's why I'm able to say, as I did when I was 8 years old with my crooked halo to a packed audience (making my mother cry):

HEY! UNTO YOU A CHILD IS BORN!

SAA Episode 9: Door Issues

Anyone who knows me well at all will be able to tell you that I have Door Issues. Like most socially awkward encounters, the whole socially awkward thing can be completely avoided if I am the only one using a door. I mean, there's no one to be socially awkward with if I'm the only one there. Sometimes I'm socially awkward with myself, but that's because I'm a writer and probably have multiple personalities, but these situations seldom rise when I'm using doors. ANYWAY, the door isn't about to start speaking to me, and if it does, I'm going to have even MORE Door Issues. So if I'm the only one using the door, there's pretty much only one way to use it. I have to open it myself and walk through it. Now wasn't that easy?

The problem arises when there is another person or other people utilizing the same door. I think someone needs to write a Door Utilization Rule Book. I think that person might have to end up being me. Because I'd like to know the proper procedure for using a door in a variety of social situations.

I live in the south now(and am from the semi-south state of Kentucky--it's not really "The South" but that's a whole other story). Most guys down here consider it their manly duty to never let a lady touch a door handle. I'm not a feminist, but really, this is one of the major causes of my door-related anxiety. I don't MIND if a guy opens a door for me. That's really nice for him to do that (Although I have to say that it's also nice when another lady opens a door for me. I think it's odd that it's considered "chivalry" for a man to open a door and only "common courtesy" for a woman to open a door--just throwing that out there. Men have plenty of opportunities to be chivalric these days (like when they change my car's tire for me or buy me a milkshake when I'm feeling blue)...I'm just not sure that rescuing a damsel in distress from a door handle really counts as chivalry.)

What I mind is when I'm clearly going to reach the door first and the guy decides to race me for it. What am I supposed to do then? Am I supposed to slow down or stop until he gets to the door first? Am I supposed to pretend to race him for the door so he can get an ego boost when he beats me? I must say, even though it's slightly awkward, I appreciate it more when a guy does race me for the door.

What's even worse is when I realize that I'm going to get to the door at the same as a guy, and he makes no indication of what he wants to do. Is he going to open the door for me? Am I supposed to wait? Am I supposed to just grab the door and walk through it and catch it so he doesn't get it slammed in his face? I don't know what the proper procedure for this is. Because either way, I stand a chance of offending the guy using the door. If I open the door before he gets to it and he was planning on opening it for me, then I've insulted him by not letting him hold the door for me (some guys take this door thing WAY too seriously--but I'm one to talk). If I wait for him to open the door and he wasn't planning on opening it for me, then he might be offended, too--"What do I look like, an automatic door opener?" Now, I've never had anyone say something like that to me, but there's a first time for everything.

And how long am I supposed to wait holding the door if there is someone behind me? When someone is five feet away from me? Ten? Twenty? Is it acceptable for me to hold a door for a man if I get to it first? If not, then why not? Is it acceptable for me to hold a door for a man who is carrying a heavy load or walking on crutches? If not, then why not?

Honestly, the noblest guys I know are the ones who just don't make a big deal out of the "door issue." If we're walking together or meet at the door, they usually do open it and I walk through and thank them. And if I happen to get to the door first, I catch it for them until they can get it, and they thank me. Those are door situations under the best possible conditions.

But in 30 years of living, I've experienced many door situations that were not under good conditions. I've been yelled at--yes yelled at--for holding doors for guys. I've had doors slammed in my face and I've run into people because of "door usage confusion." Seriously...I need to write a Door Utilization Rule Book.

Would you buy it?

Public Service Announcement: The "A Little Bit Off" Child and You

We interrupt this socially awkward blog to bring you a public service announcement.

Warning: This might actually be a serious blog.

As a socially awkward grown-up type childcare professional (hmm, yes...that sounds marginally better than glorified babysitter), and as a formerly socially awkward child, I am able to fairly quickly pick out the kids that are just, well, "a little bit off." These are the kids that lick the playhouse and put Lincoln Logs in their noses...repeatedly. These are the kids about whom, upon first viewing their vast array of colorful bumps and bruises, you want to call child services, but then you realize they're just EXTREMELY accident prone and frequently run into inanimate objects. These are the kids who say things like, "My favorite color is power rangers" or "I eated Nemo for dinner last night" or "Mommy says I'm not allowed to put playdough in my pants anymore" or who don't say anything at all and just sit in the corner as if they're afraid the other children are out to get them. The few. The awkward. The "a little bit off" children.

(Sidenote: This is NOT one of those "lets dress all our little boys in pink" blogs. I don't have any problems with little boys who wear pink, but the purpose of this post is not to explore the possibilty of gender confusion in young childhood or how people perceive the possibility of gender confusion in young childhood or how we should be proud of the possibility of gender confusion in young childhood...etc.etc.etc. I'm just talking about kids who are "a little bit off" as I once was...and still am.)

Let's face it, the "a little bit off kids" usually KNOW that they're "a little bit off." They might be right at the threshhold of being "a LOT off," but as long as they are aware enough to know that they're "a little bit off," then they aren't yet "a LOT off." ...if you could follow any of that.

I remember being one of THOSE kids. Autism is in my family (my younger brother was diagnosed with high-functioning autism), and I'm pretty sure I got some of the "a little bit off" genes, too. I remember trying to play with other kids, but they all seemed to be talking in some kind of "code" I didn't understand. I could almost get it, but not enough to be like them. They knew I was weird. The vast majority of them were mean to me. That's just how it was.

And I see the socially awkward kids now, and I observe how other kids treat them. More than that, though, I see the way grown-ups treat them. Sometimes, it makes me really mad. Now, most of what grown-ups do and say is well-intended. I think the main problem I have is when an adult who is not all that socially awkward is trying to cope with their own socially awkward child. They just can't understand because they've probably never been there.

I have NO problem with parents trying to teach their children good manners and encouraging socialization. We all need to learn how to get along with one another, and childhood is the best time for that. But it really bothers me when parents try to FORCE socialization. Honestly, it doesn't bother me when I say "hi" to a kid and they proceed to hide behind their mom's knee instead of replying. It doesn't bother me when a kid refuses to join in with the other kids and instead opts to sit in the corner and read a book or hop on his foot until he falls over (repeatedly) for no apparent reason. It does bother me when parents or other childcare workers try to make "a little bit off" kids act like all the other kids. They aren't like all the other kids. And, personally, I am glad they're not.

Sure, it's a pain to sanitize the playhouse every five minutes because little Timmy won't stop licking it. It's rough to have to explain to little Sally (for the thirtieth time) that I don't want to have to call her mom because she has a Lincoln Log stuck in her nose. It's vicariously embarassing to watch little Angie trip over her own feet AGAIN. It's especially hard to see these wonderful little people get picked on by the other children. It's even harder to see them get picked on by their own parents.

I was them once. I don't remember everything from my childhood, but I remember a few things. I remember the grown-ups that looked down on me. I remember the ones who were constantly frustrated with me because my mind just didn't work the way other kids' minds worked. But, I also remember the grown-ups who smiled and/or laughed with glee whenever I said something completely ridiculous. I remember the teachers who encouraged my overactive imagination. I remember the camp counselors and youth workers at church who just seemed to understand that I didn't really get much out of the games the other kids were playing. I remember the ways some grown-ups just seemed to "get me," who didn't deny my "a little bit offness," but they were also not ashamed. They celebrated my "a little bit offness."

One of the things I kind of like about the fact that I'm so socially awkward is that it tends to make me a more compassionate person. Kids were often mean to me, so I know what it's like to be mistreated/bullied/shunned, etc. I have a feeling that the grown-ups who encouraged me in my "a little bit off" childhood were probably once children who were "a little bit off" themselves. They grew up to be compassionate, encouraging adults. And I have a feeling that it's my turn to be that compassionate, encouraging adult now.

Seriously, my *coughfavoritecough* kids are usually the ones that are just "a little bit off." Sometimes these kids are the most challenging kids to work with because sometimes they just don't "get it" enough to know how to behave. Their own little world is too important to them to try to adhere to the rules we set for them, even if those rules are for their own well-being (almost all rules are). So it takes a lot of work and repetition and PATIENCE and LOVE, but these wonderful kids are SO worth it. I'm grateful for the opportunity to get to spend time with them, even if they're driving me batty (it doesn't take much to drive me batty, btw--I'm already "a little bit off").

See, I have this theory that the oddest children are going to be the ones who will to grow up and do the most amazing things. And it hurts me when well-meaning grown-ups try to stifle that. So if you have a "little bit off" child in your life, I encourage you to encourage them to just be themselves. I'm not saying you should let them lick the playhouse or put Lincoln Logs in their noses. I'm not even saying you shouldn't correct them when they forget their manners. I'm just saying that a little bit of compassion and patience goes a long way.

Because maybe someday that "little bit off" child is going to grow up to be a writer or a rocket scientist or a teacher who will change the world in some small or huge way--and maybe in the meantime they're just really great kids who are a heck of a lot of fun to be around if we stop trying to change them.

I'm grateful for the many parents I know that do "get" their children. I think the number of parents who "get" their children vastly outnumbers the number of parents who don't "get" their children. I just think it's a good reminder for all of us.

We now return to our normally scheduled socially awkward blog, which is already in progress.