This year, I got the privilege to participate in the local Christmas parade. The theme this year was "Tidings of Great Joy" and our Junior Girl Scout troop made a float representing the manger scene with the girls playing the parts of Joseph, Mary, and the angels. Our float was a sixteen-foot trailer carrying a homemade wooden stable, manger, star, and several animals.
In the stable sat Joseph and Mary, both looking attractive in their robes, flannel pajamas, and strategically placed antique lace tablecloth. On the left of the stable were two small angels and our troop leader. The two small angels wore gold and silver halos. Our troop leader said that she lost her halo long ago — probably in some disco tragedy.
To the right of the stable sat the rest of us. My daughter and I wore billowing white dresses, white glittery wings, and crooked halos. The other angel wore white tights, a lovely white curtain cinched at the waist with gold garland, and wings of cotton. My daughter and the cotton angel conspired to pelt unsuspecting male classmates with candy.
While we waited on our turn in the parade line, we practiced our waves and debated how an angel would wave. I demonstrated several types for the girls: the cupped-hand-Miss-America wave, the up-and-down-hi-there wave, the side-to-side-nice-to-see-ya wave, and the Richard-Nixon-over-the-head-chop wave.
We sat, waited, and discussed several issues: the definition of "tiding," when the wise men actually arrived in Bethlehem, why Elvis was on the United Methodist's float, and how and when to throw out candy. Finally, a mere two hours (and after consuming a third of the candy), we were moving!
We waved, smiled, yelled, "Merry Christmas!" and threw candy. The cotton angel yelled out, "We wear tights of great joy! Merry Christmas!"
Within the first quarter-mile and fueled by their sugar rush, the girls quickly depleted their candy stash. I hoarded my share of the candy, refusing to give any to the other angels by gloating, "Neener, neener, I have more candy than you do!"
Just after the midpoint of the parade, I also had exhausted my candy supply (as the other angels gave me self-satisfied smirks).
Guilt crept in and I had a hard time waving, smiling, and hollering, "Merry Christmas, Y'all!" because I saw those innocent snot-streaked children standing on the side of the highway clutching their plastic grocery bags looking at me with hunger and longing for candy.
I decided to conquer this feeling by being the brightest and happiest angel possible. My face split with a huge grin and I attempted to loudly greet and make eye contact with all of the children that I encountered. By the end of the parade, my head was spinning, my throat was dry, and my cheeks ached.
Being an angel is tough work, but all and all we had a glowing good time grinning, waving, riding our sugar high, and wearing our tights of great joy.
Angela Gillaspie is a freelance writer, programmer/analyst, and proud Southern Momma. When she's not in front of the computer, she's on the soccer field, in the kitchen, in the garden, or down at the crick fishing. Visit her website at www.SouthernAngel.com.
