When Jesus’ Head Fell Off

A few years ago I went to a primary school end of year concert.  It was the whole Nativity scene, you know the manger, kids dressed as sheep and camels (I dunno, but there were camels in this version, also emus).  Other kids had beach towel turbans, as you do. Mary and Jesus were serene in the knowledge they had the lead roles even if they weren’t as pretty as the angels, because well, Jesus was a baby.

Everything was going swimmingly until Jesus’ head fell off.

When I say fell off, feel free to imagine it dropping from the towel in which it was swaddled, rolling then bouncing with a certain jauntiness down three steps.

The audience was riveted and by that third bounce all you could hear was Mary’s distressed wail.

Why a basketball was chosen to play Jesus instead of someone’s baby brother or a much loved doll is beyond my powers of reasoning.

Anyway I tell you this as a long way around to having learned something about myself.

Jesus’ head falling off was a memorable moment for me.  I thought it would be a memorable moment for everyone who was there.

That night, across a crowded playground I spotted the face of an ex colleague.  When I got home I emailed him.  “Hey Shane, was that you in the playground tonight when Jesus’ head fell off?”  We had a lovely little e-chat after that.

So this week, I’m at a school function and sitting two rows over is Shane.  At interval I say,  “Shane, I haven’t seen you since that last school function when Jesus’ head fell off.”

He looks at me blanky and I realise, not only does he not remember the Jesus head bounce, he doesn’t remember me either.

But now of course he knows me as a complete lunatic, because who says that to someone as an opening line – except someone like me who found the whole thing memorable.

The moral of the story.  I should forget more.