by Dana Wineland O’Rourke, Contributing Writer
Few things excited me more in first grade than seeing the record player stand wheeled to the front of our classroom. My love of music began early and watching the teacher raise the lid and wrestle with the extension cord gave me goosebumps. It also gave me and my friends a break from the important schoolwork required of six-year-olds.
Before turning on the record player that morning, our teacher, Sister Virgil, passed out two sheets of paper to each of us. One was blank. The other was song lyrics fresh off the mimeograph machine. Those with silver in their hair may recall the bluish-purple ink and unique smell that greeted you from the page.
The song was The Friendly Beasts, also known as The Animal Carol. It’s a traditional Christmas song about the animals’ gifts to Jesus at the Nativity. The poem originated in 12th century France and is set to the Latin Orientis Partibus melody. The English words were written by Robert Davis 100 years ago.
We followed those words with our fingers as the record played.
“This song will be in our portion of the school Christmas concert, and everyone in the class will have a part,” she explained. “Our class will make the Nativity; Mary, Joseph, angels, shepherds, and animals.”
There was a rush of excitement in the room and a few students expressed to others the part they hoped to be assigned. Most girls wanted to be Mary or an angel, but not me. After hearing the song, I had my heart set on the sheep.
We were individually summoned to the teacher’s desk with our song paper while everyone kept busy drawing a Nativity scene on the blank paper. When my name was called, I nervously floated to the front of the room and faced the teacher. She pointed to my paper, placed the needle on the record, and whispered, “I’d like you to sing this part.”
I barely had time to catch my breath but stood tall and sang pretty.
“I,” said the sheep with curly horn
I gave him my wool for his blanket warm,
He wore my coat on Christmas morn’
“I,” said the sheep with curly horn
When I finished, she smiled and asked for my paper. My mouth was dry, and my knees shook as I saw her print my name beside the word sheep and hand it back to me. It was official. I was the sheep, and it felt amazing.
My mother was no seamstress but managed to make me a costume using two white bath towels, two white hand towels, and a box of safety pins. A classmate’s crafty mom volunteered to make headpieces.
On the evening of the performance, we lined up in the hallway waiting to take our places. I was thrilled to receive my headpiece; a plastic headband covered in cotton balls with two sheep-looking horns – one curled and longer than the other. It was perfectly imperfect, and I likened it to a crown.
We paraded between double doors to a sea of people and stood in our spots. I saw my family in the crowd, then looked at my friends in costume. We made a beautiful Nativity, and I felt proud. I felt even more proud it was my wool that would keep the baby Jesus warm. Yes, I was six.
When the music started, I got butterflies in my stomach. There were no microphones, so everyone had been instructed to sing to the people in the last row. We were a good class and listened well. The animals made their presence known and I was confident I represented all sheep to the best of my ability, smiling as I sweetly belted out my solo. After two more songs and thunderous applause, we went to our classroom to await pick-up.
Everyone was happy and Christmas time was somehow more Christmassy.
Sixty years have gone by since I escaped from my safety-pinned sheep costume without being stabbed. I’ve been in and to more Christmas and holiday shows, programs, and concerts than I can count. Each of them was special.
Give yourself the gift this season of attending a concert. There’s nothing like the sound of children singing to lift your spirits.
As they grew, our sons were everything from shepherds to narrators, singing and playing instruments with smiles only joy can bring.
My husband and I are now fortunate to experience our grandchildren doing the same. Between the six of them, we’ve heard every carol and could start a band.
Our oldest granddaughter had the honor of playing Mary in her elementary school Nativity. She stood and lightly swayed baby Jesus throughout the concert with love and tenderness known only to a child. It was precious.
For a moment I believed the blanket baby Jesus was wrapped in came from my wool.
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About the author: Freelance writer Dana Wineland O’Rourke retired after wearing the many hats required for her position as a school secretary for 30 years. A lifelong resident of Monongahela, Dana has been married to Tim for 46 years. Their two sons and daughters-in-law made the family an even dozen with six grandchildren. She enjoys spending time with family, traveling, gab & grubs with friends, biking, and fitness classes at the YMCA.
