The choir director selected the 6-year-old little boy with the sweetest face for the opening scene of the play. “Now, all you have to do is, when I direct the choir to sing ‘…and the angel lit the candle’, you come on stage and light all the candles.”
“I can do it – I can do it!” the little boy said, excited to be the one picked.
Rehearsals came and went, and finally the big night arrived. The choir was in grand voice, the stage was beautifully decorated with dozens of unlit candles all around, awaiting the moment when the cute littlest angel made his interest.
The director gave the downbeat, the orchestra began to play, and the choir swept into the introductory lines, ending with an expectant
“…and the angel lit the candle,” and everyone looked stage right forthe entrance. No little boy. The director gave the downbeat again, and gestured for a louder line, which the choir gave him – “…and the angel lit the candle,” and again, all eyes looked stage right. No little boy.
The director, beginning to sweat, motioned with great, sweeping gestures, and the choir thundered into the line – the curtains belled
slightly from the sound – “…AND THE ANGEL LIT THE CANDLE!”
And into the silence which followed came a clear, boy-soprano voice floating piercingly from stage right “…and the cat peed on the