Awry in the manger

I knew something was awry in the manger when the sputtering stopped. I was used to motor noises. I had a boy. Among his first toys were matchbox cars and trucks. They ran on, well, sputters. Little girls giggle. Boys sputter, especially when they’re three and haven’t yet learned words like “carburetor” or “horsepower.”

Advent had come, and we'd put out our child-friendly creche of fake moss on wood with plastic figurines. I sat little Zach down with his cloth Christmas book and related its profound plot of single words to the plastic figures. "Mary." Point to plastic mother. "Joseph." Point to plastic father. "Baby Jesus." Point to baby in animal feeding tray. Then on through the cows, shepherds, and wise men. I left him to review the lesson while I did housework.

All mothers of pre-schoolers worry when there is silence. Zach wasn't at the creche any more. All was okay--except the baby Jesus had a visitor. A four-inch motorcyclist had leaned his wheels against the corner by the cow.

"Zach," I said, calling my son to the scene of the personalized manger scene. "Doyou think Baby Jesus might wake up when the motorcycle goes vroom-vroom?” You don’t argue with a sputter specialist. The rider stayed in the no-parking zone.

Another year, when his younger sister Inga reached fashion doll age, the Holy Family had another unscheduled visit. She pushed the Wise Men to the side so that Barbie could pull up in her hot pink plastic Corvette for a social call. As I noticed Inga "walk" the doll over to the manger, I was just grateful Barbie, for a change, was modestly dressed.

We owe to St. Francis of Assisi the heritage of nativity re-creations. His outdoor manger scene helped tell local peasants the story of Christ's birth. But I doubt he imagined a set director like the one that emerged in our home. It was the year one child's personality bent became evident. As I passed by the creche in its traditional spot, I noticed something else awry in the manger. Sputter Boy had become Mr. Neatnik. My emerging perfectionist had lined up all the "people" on the right, and all the "animals" on the left.

I smiled at the sight, grateful he still left Jesus at the center of it all.