Baby Jesus in a Texas Humvee

As you may recall, my fiery redhead granddaughter had refused to identify the baby in their Nativity Scene as the Baby Jesus. (See the post, “No Room In The Inn”) Well, she has had some type of “Isle of Patmos” experience and is now certain the figure is indeed, “Baby Jesus.” Being told of his association with the upcoming Christmas, she is even walking about singing, “Happy Birthday.”

However, Baby Jesus is missing. This was revealed our most recent conversation by telephone.

“Grandmon, whatcha doing?” I began a reply and she interrupted with some urgency in her voice, “Baby Jesus is gone and I can’t find him.” As with her younger cousin in Florida, Baby Jesus was AWOL.

I wanted to say that the Baptists had been singing, “Come Home” for years. But instead I said, “where could he be?”

“In the Humvee!” Then she immediately left the phone to pursue something infinitely more exciting than talking to the old man in “Cahgo.”

“In the Humvee.” The meaning was lost on me until I remembered my grandson’s predilection for placing all sorts of “passengers” into his toy car. However, I was struck by the number of images that "Baby Jesus is in the Humvee" evoked in me.

I began to remember all the ridiculous holiday songs from over the years beginning with “I saw mommy kissing Santa Claus” and moving onto “Grandma got run over by a reindeer.” There was even one about a camel, but, come to think of it, that might not have involved Christmas at all. I also remember the fear that “Up on the housetop” caused me as a child.

No, it was not some sense of foreboding about a fat guy on the roof falling off and breaking a limb. It was the “click, click, click.” I couldn’t snap my fingers as we sang the “click, click, click” part! This was a major source of trauma for a kid in elementary school. So in order to stay ahead in the “peer pressure” department, I was sick a lot on days we had music. Healing came when school was dismissed around December 20th.

I just had to hope Mrs. Heacock didn’t plan on our doing “The Bridge over the River Kwai.” (Whistling was as challenging as snapping my fingers.)

Christmas songs have either been the source of great joy or great consternation. Miss Cleedy Martin came in late on her much rehearsed solo at the Baptist church. She was singing something about the animals in the manger. Knowning the Baptists, I am certain it was not related to the "O Magnum Mysterium." She explained later that she was distracted trying to decide whether to sing ass with the “a” as in attic or the “ah” as in car. (Think about it and you will understand her dilemma.)

“I saw three ships” has always caused a problem if sung too fast. (You will need to think about that one too, maybe even sing it “vivace.”) "Have yourself a merry little Christmas" has always sounded like it was a bit "pouty." (I'm gonna take my Ferrero Rocher's and go home.)

Christmas is upon us and we suffer daily through “Jingle Bell Rock.” But this too shall pass.

Out in Texas, Baby Jesus has been extracted from the Humvee and when last spotted, he was being twirled around while the redhead sang, “Dreidel, Dreidel, Dreidel.”