Leslie's Christmas Song

    I’ve always thought of Christmas as a magical season, but there was one time, years ago, when the magic floated right out of the sky and landed right on my head.

    It was the Christmas Eve family mass at packed St. Matthews Church back in 1986, and I was crammed into a pew, along with Jim and three of my four children.  Instead of Jim’s favorite seats near the back of the church, we were all sitting close to the front.  I had a twin on my lap, as did Jim, and Steve was wedged in between us.  Only Leslie was missing.  She was a proud and happy new member of the Children’s Choir, and we had left her surrounded by her friends up in the balcony choir loft.

    There was a lot of whispering and murmuring in the crowded church as latecomers tried to find seats, and parents tried to hush small children excited about being in church at night instead of morning Sunday School and even more excited about Santa’s imminent arrival the next day. 

    And then, a bell rang, and a child’s voice rang out:  “Oh Holy Night, the stars are brightly shining, it is the night of our dear savior’s birth...” and a hush fell over the entire church.  The whole congregation was suddenly silent, mesmerized, listening to a pure, angelic voice fill the huge church with the true, simple meaning and joy of Christmas.  It was lovely, it was compelling, it was perfect that a young child was reminding us why we were celebrating that night, I remember thinking.

     It wasn’t until the last note drifted away, as the organ began to play and the other children began singing, and the priests began their entrance into the crowded church, that I realized that it was not just any child who had been singing, who had stirred the emotions of hundreds of people.  The young singer was my child, my Leslie, who had nonchalantly mentioned on the way home from choir practice a week ago that she had a little solo in the Christmas Eve program. 

    I was utterly shocked. I knew that Leslie had a sweet voice, that she sounded great singing along with Mary Poppins or the Sesame Street crew.  I knew that she had not inherited my complete inabiity to carry a tune, but I had no idea that she could actually sing.  I remember sitting in the pew, stunned, wanting to hear Leslie sing again, wanting to go back in time and listen again to Leslie’s incredible solo.  I remember leaning over Steve and whispering to Jim “That was Leslie,” and the surprised look on his face.  I remember hugging a twin tight and whispering “that was your sister.”  And I remember, to my surprise, tears running down my cheeks.

    Leslie’s Christmas solo was only the first of many performances I’ve listened to.  I will always hear the Christmas songs “I wonder as I Wander” and “The Friendly Beasts” in Leslie’s voice.  Every time I hear Julie Andrews sing “the hills are alive with the sound of Music,” I remember Leslie’s voice ringing through the trees as we hiked through the woods at Turkey Run.  

        I’ve always been proud and thrilled with Leslie’s performances, but I’ve never been as emotionally moved as I was that Christmas Eve.  In retrospect, I’m wondering if part of my astonished and emotional reaction was because Leslie’s singing made me realize for the first time the uniqueness of each of my children with their special talents, gifts, and personalities and how utterly distinct they are from their parents, no matter how much we love them.  A magic moment, indeed.