Proof The Bible Is True

Computers aren’t my thing, but my children insisted I get on Facebook. I was grateful for it when Mrs. Moran tracked me down and “friended” me.

Back in Brooklyn, when I was a child, Mrs. Moran, a former showgirl, made every holiday in our building an extravaganza—especially Christmas. She cast all the kids in the building in her very own Christmas pageant.

As I confirmed her friend request, my mind drifted back to the year I turned seven. My brother, Thomas, and I were making our way up to Mrs. Moran’s apartment for our first rehearsal.

“Oh, please, let me be an elf!” I said.

Elves got to wear striped pants and pointy shoes and be as silly as they wanted. Whoever played Mary had to be serious and sad about not finding any room at the inn. Mrs. Moran insisted we had to become the part we played, so I wanted to play something fun.

“Well, you might get to be the donkey,” Thomas said.

I hoped not. Last year’s donkey had tried to carry a rather hefty Mary on his back and collapsed.

“Too bad we can’t have real animals anymore,” I sighed as we reached the second floor. “Just because that dog from 3B made a mess on the carpet.”

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