My son has an impressive memory. Back in nursery, he could recite every single line from the holiday performances, so until the very last moment, no one ever truly knew which costume hed wear since, if another child fell ill, hed jump in, already knowing all their lines.
For the Christmas party, my five-year-old was given the role of a cucumber. I found this out the night before his father was on drop-off duty, so I ran out, picked up a green T-shirt and some coloured card, then spent half the night happily sewing little green shorts to match. I made a jaunty salad-hued cap out of card, glued it all together, and finished it off with a wire stalk covered in green fabric.
His dad would be taking him to the party, which didn’t fill me with confidence. So, the following morning, I gave him strict instructions on how to dress our son and attach the hat properly before he dashed off to work.
That afternoon, the phone rang at work. It was the nursery teacher, her voice quivering: The main roles actor has fallen ill. Tomorrow, your son will be… the Gingerbread Man. In a fit of nerves, I asked, Could the Gingerbread Man possibly appear as… a cucumber? There was a long, meaningful pause.
I rang my husband at the hospital with the news. He sounded utterly delighted (that should have been my first clue). Not a problem at all, he assured me. Ill bring two friends from workboth surgeons. The three of us make a cracking team! Being surgeons, were quick on our feet. Well sort the costume for you! (Looking back, I suppose my gut instinct was also off sick that day.)
At nine that evening, I rang home in a panic. My son answered, cheerfully explaining they had bought a white T-shirt, Dad was gluing yellow cardboard together, Uncle Bob was making dinner, and Uncle Bill was giggling away.
An hour later, my son informed me he was off to bed. Uncle Bill had cut out a big yellow cardboard circle and was busy drawing eyes on it, Uncle Bob had his head in a jar of pickled onions, while Dad was hiccuping with laughter.
At midnight, I called again. My husband picked up to say that Uncle Bob and Uncle Bill had grown weary from their Gingerbread Man efforts and were sound asleep. There were, however, a few little issues. The Gingerbread Mans face, by sheer accident, had been stuck crookedly onto the white T-shirt with superglue by Uncle Bob. When Uncle Bill attempted to prise it off, the shirt tore, so they ended up sewing the gigantic yellow face onto the original green cucumber T-shirt with medical silk.
But, somehow, it turned out rather wellthough I couldnt quite imagine how. And as a bonus, theyd given the Gingerbread Man thirty teeth, which meant he was now grinning from ear to ear. Admittedly, theyd run out of white cardboard for the last two, but as I said on the phone, No one will noticethirty teeth are plenty.
So, apparently, I could stop worrying, get on with my shift, and know my son would have the best costume. That snoring noise? Just Uncle Bill, sprawled in the armchairhed been so meticulous cutting out those teeth, hed nodded off amidst the scraps of card.
My mind was uneasy all night. In the morning, I begged the Chief Matron to let me dash off, if only for an hour, to see my boys party.
I was a bit late. As I reached the school hall, peals of hysterical laughter and occasional sniffles echoed from behind the doors. I peered in.
By the Christmas tree, my sonthe Gingerbread Manwas attempting to skip about. Strapped to his chest was a massive, moon-shaped yellow face, stretching from chin to knees. The monsters eyes stared off in opposite directions, and three long stitched seams of medical silk above them looked like deep, well-worn frown lines.
The most striking part was the gaping mouth and the notable absence of two teethprecisely the top front pair! This Gingerbread Man looked absolutely ancient, a battered old soul who had seen hard times, perhaps recently sprung from Wormwood Scrubs and still battling a penchant for ale. And as the crowning touch, the wonky green cucumber cap (with its wire stalk) perched atop his head.
Suddenly, my boy started reciting his lines: Where else would you find someone like me…? (The next bit was something about only in stories and at a Christmas party, but by then no one could take it anymore.) The nursery teacher collapsed onto her haunches with a groan, and the entire hall was in stitches.
