Sunday, December 21, 2008

Angela, The Baby Jesus and Me


When my mother, Angela, was six years old, she felt sorry for the
baby Jesus in the Christmas crib at St. Joseph's Church near School
House Lane where she lived. She thought the Baby Jesus was cold
and wondered why no one had put a blanket over his plump little
body. He looked happy enough, smiling up at his mother, the Virgin
Mary, and St. Joseph and the three shepherds carrying little lambs
all cozy in their fur. Even if he was cold he'd never complain because
the Baby Jesus would never want to make his mammy the slightest
bit unhappy.
.
from Angela and the Baby Jesus by Frank McCourt
illustration from the book by Raul Colon
.
My grandmother had a big cardboard box type pop-up nativity set
with a doll sized plastic baby Jesus, complete with permanent plastic
swaddling clothes and a sweet heavenly expression on his wee face.
The smell of the new plastic was intoxicating. I enjoyed seeing how
far I could toss Baby Jesus into the air and catch him, which usually,
I didn't. Grandma caught me once and scolded me for being
disrespectful. I remember gingerly putting him back into his crib of
straw, encased in a plastic bag, hoping God wasn't upset. I bought
myself a copy of Frank McCourt's lovely children's book last
Christmas because the story of his mother, Angela, and the baby
Jesus reminded me so much of my little four year old self.

37 comments:

  1. Memories of being four ..Wow! I hardly anything of my youth .. today, snapshots are dandy for some of those long ago events.

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  2. Ohhh! Your tale of tossing the Baby Jesus doll into the air sounds so familiar...wonder if I did something similar?

    I tried reading Angela's Ashes years ago and couldn't get into it... Angela, The Baby Jesus and Me (from this sample anyway) doesn't seem so depressing to me. Maybe I'll try McCourt again.

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  3. That's a lovely story, thank you.

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  4. Very nice - now I'm going to crack open those books again.

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  5. Sweet story. Children just see things as playthings until they get older and find more meaning. That photo is very nice.

    For me it's sad putting everything back into storage and putting it in boxes on the top shelf.

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  6. I imagine that four-year-old-Willow was inquisitive, active, and a wee bit daring!

    Sweet remembrance.

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  7. Thought I had read everything McCourt wrote, but have missed this Christmas story.

    Enjoyed reading about your childhood memory, even though you were a bit naughty... wonder if Santa was watching?

    (You have a lovely blog site, I check in at the manor often to see what you are up to.)

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  8. Ahhh ... I don't know if I have any specific 4 year old memories, as that was the year my brother tossed me into a wall and cracked my head open. Oh, I digress. Funny nativity story though. My gramma had a nativity set that she'd let us play with, and one year, my sister hid the baby Jesus. She would NOT give up the location of the baby Jesus. She said to my Grandmother that people are always saying that you have to find Jesus, so that's why she hid him.

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  9. I have a few memories of being 4 but none have to do with the baby Jesus. I could just picture a precocious little Willow tossing the baby Jesus. Thanks for sharing your story.

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  10. I throughly enjoyed Angela's Ashes and Tis and I am happy to learn Frank McCourt wrote a children's Christmas story...will be looking for it to buy for myself! I especially loved his Chrismas story of the head cheese....

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  11. Lovely memories of you at four. When I was four one of my brothers almost drowned me at the Cave and Basin pool at Banff. The best part was the heck he got into from the lifeguard and my parents afterwards. The bad part was up to that point I wasn't afraid of water and would just jump in. Afterwards it took me years to learn how to swim, but I managed.

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  12. this sounds like another good read, Willow - will have to find a copy and I want to know how you get video on your sidebar! I'm just hopeless

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  13. McCourt writes with poetic detail that triggers emotions that many of us want to keep buried. Angela's Ashes is not a light read but Teacher Man is entertaining if you have some shared experience. I read his chapter on how he left Ireland without his PhD but with a bag of carefully written notes with dread and interest. I know that all of this research was what has made his writing so rich in detail. Imagine that he waited until he was teaching writing to start seeing himself as a writer and that he didn't write his first novel (AA) until he had retired. His work reminded me of James Joyce, The Dubliners. They both use detailed imagery that brings the state of poverty in full- emotional-view. Thanks for the posting Willow, do you have any information about the painting?

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  14. Steph read "Angela's Ashes" and later we saw the movie based on the book on television. So.very.sad.

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  15. A lovely Christmas memory! I remember being captivated by the nativity scene in our local church which was unveiled at Midnight Mass.

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  16. Hello Willow,

    Another charming story. I'm sure many of us block memories of naughty antics from our minds.

    Your art and literature postings only serve to show me what an AWFUL LOT I don't know! I may have to stop visiting !! :0)

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  17. You poor scolded little thing! I hope it did not sour you for the rest of your life.
    No, seriously though, that sort of thing can leave feelings of guilt on a little mite.
    Hae a happy Christmas. I hope your family congregate again like at Thanksgiving.

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  18. What a great story - the tiny Willow tossing a tiny plastic Jesus into the air. Is that disrespectful? Sounds very sweet to me.

    My favorite creche scene was the one my friend Sharon made from pez dispensers. (Tweetie Bird was the baby Jesus). It was so so sweet.

    Happy solstice, Willow!

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  19. What a delightful child you must've been as a four year old...I'll bet we all have tales to chuckle over of our long lost youth...like the time I talked my lil' brother into sticking his head through the banister rail...it went in, but didn't come out...I died laughing...my parents did NOT...LOL...

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  20. great memory, i do not recall much from 7 and before. lucky you.

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  21. I loved "Angela's Ashes," and Frank McCourt is a winner. Lovely! Happy Holidays, Willow!

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  22. See you were meant to create, be clever not catch forward passes

    I like the new header photo

    :-Daryl

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  23. Lovely story - both McCourt's and yours willow. Best wishes for Christmas. Aren't memories of this time of the year poignant. Have done a blog today on the same subject.

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  24. *Cries* What happened to egg nog?

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  25. Christmas stories never fail to please.

    All the best to you.

    CJ xx

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  26. I clicked onto the "Eggnog" post and it said it wasn't there! I was hoping to find another wonderful recipe! :-(((

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  27. Hi Willow.

    I, too, tuned in to find out about eggnog. As an English person born and bred, I have a very sketchy grasp of (i) what it is; (ii) what you do with it; and (iii) why it seems to have achieved iconic status in Christmas films.

    Is it anything like Advocaat? Do tell!

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  28. Thanks for sharing that childhood memory and the excerpt from Frank's. Love the photo of the old christmas bulbs in box. Happy Holiday, Suki

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  29. eggnog will not show itself! - alas..

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  30. That was very sweet and nostalgic. Thank you.

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  31. Sorry about that bloggies! "Eggnog" posted itself before its time. Since EV-eryone is crying out for it, I went ahead and posted it early. :):):)

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  32. Giggles and chuckles. Can you hear me laughing?

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  33. Beautiful tale, willow. I especially enjoyed how you upended Christianity, oopsie, how you toss Baby Jesus up in the air and got told off for it (sorry, I did not enjoy you getting told off, but the story :-D).

    Greetings from London.

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  34. I have the book but have not yet read it. Looks like it coule be a bit nostalgic. I remember making dolls beds out of cardboard boxes as a young child.
    Have a great Christmas.

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  35. Any book illustrated by Raul Colon is a masterpiece.

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  36. Colon's soft illustrations are marvelous!

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Inject a few raisins of conversation into the tasteless dough of existence.
― O. Henry (and me)