December 11, 2008
no room at the polygamous inn
When my brother was in kindergarten, he was cast as The First Innkeeper in the Christmas pageant — you know, one of the guys who says “NO ROOM AT THE INN!” to Mary and Joseph. John was not thrilled about being The First Innkeeper; he was the kind of kid who was super funny in small groups but didn’t really like to perform for big crowds. He had a great sense of humor, but he wasn’t someone who needed attention all the time. Charlie is exactly like him, in fact; it’s a little eerie. In a good way.
So John gets cast as The First Innkeeper, and my mother comes up with a fantastic costume that consists of a bathrobe and a dishtowel (because this was 1974 and no one expected the moms to hand-craft a runway-quality costume for a five-year-old, and also it was still okay to wear a TOWEL ON YOUR HEAD when you played the innkeeper in the Christmas story — after all, the girl who played Mary was always a blue-eyed blond, which says so very much about what it was like growing up in the 70s). John wasn’t happy about the bathrobe or the towel or having to say “THERE’S NO ROOM AT THE INN” in front of a whole group of parents, but he was a good kid and he didn’t complain. Much.
Just like Charlie.
Our very small Catholic school had a stage, complete with curtains and lights — of course, it was at one end of the gym, under the basketball goal, but whatever (we also had Mass there occasionally, because our church was really small; one side of the basketball court had a fold-out altar that was opened up for special occasions, and no I am NOT making that up). The stage had stairs on each side and a curtain and about a three-foot wide strip that ran in front of the curtain. John’s part was at the very beginning of the performance; Mary and Joseph climbed the stairs at one side of the stage and pretended to knock; John and his dishtowel head garb and the little girl who was Innkeeper #1’s Wife appeared from behind the curtain, and John said, “THERE’S NO ROOM AT THE INN.”
My parents smiled at each other proudly. Because good job, son! And now he’s done.
Or not.
Mary and Joseph retreat down the stairs and walk to the other end of the stage; they climb the other set of stairs and pretend to knock at what we know is the second inn. And from behind the curtain my brother appears, in the same bathrobe and dishtowel but with a new wife. And he says, “THERE’S NO ROOM AT THE INN.” And my parents look at each other and shrug.
Mary and Joseph sigh sadly and proceed to the middle of the stage; they pretend to knock at the third door, and the curtain opens and …
There’s my brother! Same bathrobe, same dishtowel, completely different wife. And THIS time he says, “YOU CAN STAY IN MY MANGER.” And my parents look at each other and start to laugh.
After the show was over, John told us what happened: the kid who was playing the second innkeeper was sick and didn’t show up, and the kid playing the third innkeeper peed his pants at the very last minute and couldn’t go on. “So I had to do it,” he said, half disgusted and half nonchalant.
Just like Charlie.
To this day, my family makes jokes about the polygamous innkeeper. Because we’re like that.
Posted by Susan @ 7:44 pm • good people
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December 11th, 2008 at 8:17 pm, Jenny Lee Says:
My mom used to have this brown velour bathrobe with white fuzzy trim. It was perfect for the stylish innkeeper or wise man. You can dress it up or dress it down depending on the head gear and the accessories.
December 11th, 2008 at 8:41 pm, exile on mom street Says:
This post should have a warning label.
I just almost shot my hot toddy out of my nose. And since we’re now out of apple brandy I REALLY wouldn’t have wanted to waste any…
December 12th, 2008 at 12:44 am, RHi Says:
I love this story. It makes me think of my uncle who has the BEST MEMORY ever and tells awesome stories about my dad when he was younger.
December 12th, 2008 at 1:24 am, Camels & Chocolate Says:
This is priceless. You have the best stories! If only you grew up in Utah…no one would have even flinched.
December 12th, 2008 at 7:19 am, NancyJak Says:
I was that blond haired, blue eyed “Mary” of the 70s nativity scene of which you speak! Only I came with a tickle in my throat during the tableau on stage; oddly, I had that same fricking tickle that makes your eyes water and throat bulge during my first communion in church.
It’s either a crowd/silence thing or a catholic church thing go figure!
December 12th, 2008 at 9:13 am, Kristie Says:
That’s hysterical! And can I say that I envy your mother and her bath towel genius? As the mother of three, whose school has a freakish obsession with costumes, I’m always complaining about having to dress my kids up for something. Last week, it was for the vocabulary parade, One kid was “arachnid” and one was “Strewn” (yes, I know. Strewn. WTH???) Next week it’s the live museum … one kid is Johnny Bench, one is Dwight D. Eisenhower. (sigh) What I wouldn’t give for a bath towel on the head.
December 12th, 2008 at 11:31 am, Lucinda Says:
So stinkin’ funny!!!! I’m still laughing. Thanks.
December 12th, 2008 at 11:57 am, Style by Anastasia Says:
Absolutely hilarious!
Anastasia x
December 12th, 2008 at 3:09 pm, karen Says:
Best. Christmas. Play. Ever! *snort*
December 12th, 2008 at 3:27 pm, Tanya Says:
That is the best Christmas play story every.
My boss walked by as I was reading it and wanted to know why I was laughing so loudly!
December 14th, 2008 at 2:17 am, Mom on the Run Says:
One of my best and worst experiences of my 10th grade year at a Catholic convent school in England was the nativity play I “wrote” and “directed” with my good friend. We were in charge of a group of 6th graders for indoor recess. Once the weather got colder we had the brilliant idea of staging a nativity play. Try getting 30 11-year-olds to listen to a couple of teenagers and act–not easy. Quite frequently girls would throw themselves off the stage…why I don’t know. It freaked my friend and I out.
December 14th, 2008 at 10:32 pm, Jess Says:
I wonder how many Innkeeper’s wives would have been revealed had the 3rd not been so gracious and welcoming. Though, you would think with that sort of lifestyle, there would ALWAYS be room at the inn.