The Atheist Buddhist Virgin Mary and The Eight-Point Buck

The other night, The Husband Dude and I were watching Charlie Brown Christmas. When Lucy was handing out all the parts for the play, we had a conversation about our own school plays.

“I always had to be a villager,” The Dude said.

“I always had to be the narrator because I was the best reader,” I responded. “And probably because I had the biggest mouth.”

“I can totally see that.”

“In the fourth grade, our part of the Christmas program was to do the Nativity Scene,” I told him. I had been waiting all year because I wanted to be Mary. Mary didn’t have any lines, but she got to wear this beautiful blue robe, and she spent the whole scene staring serenely at the Baby Jesus in his manger and the spotlight was on her the entire time. And you know what?”

“What?”

“I had to be the narrator.”

The Dude nodded sympathetically.

“I mean, I had all the speaking lines,” I continued. “The actors didn’t have any lines. I said everything as narrator and the actors just acted out the scene, so I had a spotlight too and all the lines, but I still just wanted to be Mary. I had even practiced at home wearing my Mom’s housecoat and a towel draped on my head to be my veil, and I stared serenely at my baby doll. But I still didn’t get the part. You know who did?”

“Who?”

“Fran Mann.”

The Dude blinked.  “Fran Mann?”

“Yes,” I answered. “And you know what else? She was atheist.”

“She was atheist?”

“Yes,” I nodded. “Well, technically, her dad was atheist. Her Mom was Buddhist, and Fran was the Virgin Mary.”

The Dude blinked again. “You had an Atheist-Buddhist Virgin Mary?”

“Yes.”

Then I remembered something.

“Actually, there IS one year I didn’t have to narrate. That was the year before this in the third grade.  You know all of Santa’s reindeer, right?”

The Dude nodded. “Yeah.”

“I got to play the Mama reindeer.”

Now The Dude looked puzzled. “The reindeer had a mom?”

I chuckled. “All mammals have a mom.”

“Thanks, Bill Nye the Science Guy.”

I continued my story. “So anyway, my teacher told me to wear something motherly and get some antlers to make myself look like a reindeer. Apparently, reindeer are the only species of deer where the females grow antlers too.”

“So, what did you use?”

“I figured my Dad was the person to talk to,” I said, “so I told him I needed antlers. He went out in the backyard and cut a couple of limbs off one of the trees.”

“And….?” The Dude looked at me impatiently.

“There is no ‘and.’ He didn’t change them, or cut them short, or otherwise make them child-friendly. He literally strapped them to my head using a pair of my Mom’s pantyhose.”

The Dude blinked with his mouth about half open, like he wanted to say something but had no idea what to even say.

I continued my story. “So, I showed up to school with this get-up and my teacher looked horrified. But I was wearing this cute red and white gingham dress that my Mom made. It had a long prairie-type skirt on it and my boots under that and a shawl to look motherly. The teacher painted my face with exaggerated rosy cheeks and a brown reindeer nose and then she strapped that tree limb contraption to my head. I had to wait behind the curtain for my cue, and I think Rudolph said something about ‘Mom’ and I walked out from behind the curtain and the audience just screamed.”

The Dude smiled. “You were a hit! Your costume was awesome!”

“NO!” I laughed. “They screamed because I looked like a FUCKING EIGHT-POINT BUCK because I had a FUCKING TREE strapped to my head with pantyhose! Some of the men and teenage boys had really itchy trigger fingers that day!”

The Dude nodded excitedly. “That’s great! An eight-point buck!”

“I was supposed to be a Mama Reindeer, not a trophy on someone’s wall!”

The Dude snorted a little. “That’s still great. Do you have a picture?”

“I think I have a fuzzy Polaroid somewhere, but I’m not sure you can see the full effect of the antlers in the picture.”

There was a long pause.

Finally, I looked over at him and broke our silence. “So, which one were you? The cop or the construction guy?”

The Dude looked confused. “What are you talking about?”

“You said you always had to be a villager. Which one of the Village People were you?”

“Oh, you’re funny.”

“Should I sing Y.M.C.A.?”

“No.”

He got up and walked away to the bedroom, then suddenly popped his head back into the living room.

“I would be the motorcycle guy.”

And that, my friends, is why we’re still married.