We were invited to an elementary school last Thursday morning to see a Christmas program put on by the first graders of which the great-grandson is one. We had no idea what the program would consist of and were surprised to read on the info sheet we received upon arrival that it is was going to be "A Cowboy Christmas." This brightened up my spirits somewhat, and as the curtain rose, there stood all the children in makeshift cowboy outfits of white T-shirts and red bandanna neckerchiefs. The great-grandson even wore his pair of cowboy boots to practice one day, I learned.
It was a boot-kicking, knee-slapping, toe-tapping good old show, let me tell you. The kids sang some old favorites like Home on the Range, I Wanna be a Cowboy in a Rodeo Show, the Twelve Days of Christmas (adpated to Arizona, e.g., 8 green lizards, 6 rattlenakes, 12 roadrunners, five million snowbirds, etc.), Silent Night, The Cowboy's Lament, and 'Twas the Night Before Christmas. They threw in a poem or two and had a Christmas Sing-A-Long, and my grandduaghter cried at seeing her son singing and clapping and going through the other movements of the songs. It was a heart-wrenching, divine spectacle, and the teachers and principal deserve a great round of applause for the play's production.
As the parents, uncles, aunts, grandparents, and everyone else filed out, there were broad smiles of happiness and satisfaction in the performances of their off-spring. I, for one, thoroughly enjoyed the show, and it was something I wasn't exactly looking forward to. My wife thought it was a fine play, too, and I could tell she was proud of the job the kids did, especially that of the great-grandson.We had to go get a late breakfast after that at the bowling alley and brag to the waitress about what we had just seen. It was a geat start to the day!