Christmas story 2.0 (12-01-24)
I've always loved to read. Work makes someone like me so tired, and reading doesn't make you dumber either. That's how I learned that there was something wrong with many of the greats.
Take that Elon Musk. Crazy as hell, if you ask me.
He grew up in South Africa, was frequently bullied and beaten up at school and at home? Hmm. His father kept accusing him of being a loser. ‘A good-for-nothing person who wouldn't get anywhere.’ Another addict in the world?
Steve Jobs was adopted twice, and Leonardo da Vinci was the illegitimate child of a father who did not want to acknowledge him. Left-handed Leonardo was gay, (so what), Einstein a Jew who grew up in Germany. And I could go on and on.
As a child, I sometimes dreamed of becoming one of them. A writer who raced pigeons, or a pigeon fancier who was also a writer. What was wrong with me would be discovered by others.
EASY
But after my first tentative work as a writer, I 'got stuck'.
That was going to be a Christmas story. A big advantage was that you didn't have to worry about who the main characters of your story would be. After all, you already had them: Mary, Saint Joseph, the 3 WISE Kings from the East in particular.
So I started writing and would see where the ship stranded.
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MY DEBUT
Mary was far from feeling well that morning. What could that be? Not pregnant after all, surely? Or maybe a little bit? Hmm. ‘A little bit pregnant?’ Impossible her teacher used to say. Besides, shouldn't you have had sex first?
And she couldn't remember anything about it. Just check it anyway. If anyone could know, it was her husband Joseph. He should be at home because she had heard the sound of his electric saw, he was a carpenter and because none of the neighbors were carpenters......
She shouted: 'Sjeffy boy, Sjeffy boy.'
Soon the good Joseph came stumbling towards it.
Maria: 'Honey Sjeffy, I have to ask you something. Have we had sex?"
Joseph: 'Sex? Not at all. Only a lot of rain.'
'But I do seem to be pregnant, Sjeffy boy. I really do.'
Jozef: 'It's hardly possible. We milk our own sheep. There hasn't been a milkman on the floor, not even in the neighborhood. If you want to be absolutely sure, you have an ultrasound done, for sure.'
'F*ck', Maria thought. That I didn't think of that myself. And without Joseph noticing, Mary treated him to a middle finger.
REALLY?
Her husband knew nothing about it, but the despair remained. Had she perhaps been on the vape and coloring outside the lines? Couldn't be. She hadn't been out of her jeans. Still, she would like to know if Joseph was right. Whether you could only get pregnant after sex.
It seemed certain now that she had a prize, so from the day the little one was born she would keep up with the newspapers and the talk shows. To check if there were more births without sex beforehand.
Anyway, despite her poverty and virgin past, she gave birth to a healthy son. Someone who would go far, but He also had a problem.
His problem was that while he was on FaceBook, he never got more than 12 followers, so that could have been better. And even those 12 were not all of impeccable behavior.
Something that has always stayed with her was that first visit.
INCONVENIENT
No sooner had she fed the donkey, turned off the TV, then the bell rang. She buttoned up her gown a little further, cursed softly and wondered who that could be. What fool went outside now, with rain rain rain every day? And what was even more impressive: How had they found her?
She kicked the manger aside a little and walked to the stable door. Now she was almost cursing out loud. There was not ONE visitor at the door, but no less than three! All well dressed, it must be said, and they all had something with them, although that one smelled very bad. Coming out of your mouth, a person can't smell like that, Maria thought. It looked like incense.
THE VISIT
She looked at the men and snapped, "Brrrr. Jesus, it's so cold today. And what are you supposed to do so late? Are you not wise? Where do you actually come from and how did you find it here?'
"We come from the east, we are very wise and we have come for that Jesus you mentioned. Or what did you think. Your sister? How did we find it? Simple. Because of that white pigeon of course, that star also helped and with our GPS it could hardly be missed.’
UP THERE
I had come this far with my first writings when the teacher called me to the front. She started reading and then again. The more she read, the more her eyebrows rose. She clicked her tongue three times and then said: "Oh boy. What a mess. And that wanted to be a writer? Quickly forget little guy. You're a first-class fiddler who mixes everything up. You'll never write Christmas stories again. Understood?' "Yes, miss," I whispered humbly, "I'll never do it again."
When my father came back from the next parents' evening, he looked at me worriedly. "You heard what the teacher said, didn't you? If you like to write so much, just do it about pigeons.' "Daddy, please. Then you'll soon be bored. Please allow me to also write about people, right?' "Okay. Go on, then. "People and pigeons."