When I think back to my
childhood and asked who my favorite teacher was, I would answer without hesitation
that her name was Wilma Sappington. Mrs. Sappington was the type of teacher
that you would dream to have. She made learning fun and very meaningful. There are several things that I remember
about her. I can still visualize her sitting beside me, helping me to learn to
make a Cursive “W”. My last name was
Warren. Now being left handed, making
that slant was not easy. Perhaps since
her first name was Wilma, she had that same experience when she was a child, I
am not sure. Another thing I remember
about her was that she had a contest every month where whoever drank the most
cartons of milk would be the Milk Queen or Milk King for the next month! Well,
I got to be Milk Queen one month and I still remember how that made me
feel. I was obsessed with crowns anyway,
always making them out of aluminum foil and wearing them around the house. The third thing I will mention (and believe
me, there are more) was that in Mrs. Sappington’s class we had a Christmas
play….yes, Mary, Joseph, Baby Jesus, the real thing. Well, of course you know that I wanted to
play Mary in the worst way but that role went to Barbara Hill, one of my best
friends. No, I got the part of one of
the speakers! So, when it came to the
part of the shepherds, I stood up on a stool and recited the part of the story
from Luke…”And in the same country, there were shepherds abiding in the fields,
keeping watch over their flocks by night....”
You know that one. I memorized
all of these verses to the “shepherd part” and still remember them to this
day. I also remember what I was wearing
along with the giant bow that was always prominently on the top of my head,
thanks to my mother. Isn’t it funny the
things that you can remember from so long ago?
Yet, I would have to think awhile as to what I did each day last week.
I am one of the lucky ones who can say that I can only
think of one or two times in my life that Christmas was not a special time of
the year. As a child the anticipation of
Santa was more than I could stand! I
would never be able to sleep the night before.
I was a true believer that Santa was real and remain a believer still
today. We always opened presents on
Christmas morning and I can remember the wonderful sounds of rustling of paper
late the night before as my parents were doing last minute wrapping and getting
ready the next day. I bet this was
always a special time for them, now that I think about it.
I know that it certainly was a good time for me when I
had sons of my own. I spent many a
Christmas Eve staying up late getting things ready for them so that it would be
magical when they woke up and came down the stairs. How I treasure those
memories!
Even though my parents made Christmas consistently
wonderful for my brother and me as far as Santa was concerned, there was no
doubt in our minds as to what we were really celebrating. Much emphasis was put on the birth of Jesus
and what that meant to the world. It was a
tradition at our house on Christmas Eve to have a “program” of sorts and everyone was expected to be there. It usually consisted of my daddy reading the
story from the Bible, and then my brother and I would take part somehow. Mother played the piano and we sang
carols. This tradition continued until
my father’s death in 1990. Only, in
addition to his reading the story, we had performances from John and from
Robert. I was even known to sing! But, the important thing is that we all had a
part to play in this important service.
I remember the first Christmas Eve after daddy died. My mother came to Texas. We still had our “program” and I have a
picture of Robert reading the Christmas story in daddy’s place. Unfortunately over the past years, we have
discontinued having our special time.
Part of this was due to the fact that I was always at the church on Christmas
Eve playing the piano for sometimes 4 or 5 services that day. Anyway, I dropped the ball with keeping that
tradition alive and it makes me rather sad when I think about it.
