Reprint from Reinventing Normal: How Choice and Change Shape Our Lives (2013)

Dedicated to Cyndy, my cohort in crime and lifelong sister of my heart

——

I think one of the best parts of the holiday season is remembering favorite stories of years gone by. I thought it might be fun to share one of my own that has well withstood the test of time as I
am still laughing as I tell you about it today. Maybe it’s just me, maybe you had to be there, but I bet you will laugh, too.

I was in the seventh grade when we used to call it Junior High School. The preacher’s kid from the church we attended was transferred into my class, and Jeff and I became quick friends. I
regularly looked forward to Monday mornings when he would quietly fill me in on all the juicy congregation gossip from the previous week, all the stuff they didn’t talk about on Sunday
mornings.

It was Christmas and time for Jeff to give me the inside scoop on the party the prior weekend at his house. He described to me how the soloist from the church choir drank too much and
actually stood on a table with a lampshade on her head as she belted out a song. It didn’t help matters that it was a widely shared opinion that this woman, soloist or not, couldn’t carry a tune
to save her soul.

We went to church the following Sunday for the holiday service. Lined up in the pew was my mom, my younger brother, me in the middle, my best friend, Cyndy, and finally my older brother
at the end. We took up most of the row with our holiday-adorned presence as well as our good intentions.

The service started out as expected but took a precarious turn when the minister stood up and gave a glowing introduction for the soloist as she came forward to perform her Christmas
number. I never told anyone what Jeff had shared with me in confidence, but my loyal silence came with a price.

The woman began to sing and proceeded to hit her usual sour notes at random points in her solo. When she finished, you could hear a pin drop until the minister stood up, looked somberly at the
congregation and rhetorically asked, “Now wasn’t that beautiful?” That’s when I lost my battle for control as a loud snort escaped and I burst into uncontrollable giggles. With no idea why I
was laughing, Cyndy couldn’t help herself and she joined in.

My mom looked down the row at me with that Mom Look, you know the one, admonishing me for my bad behavior without needing to say a word. I knew I was in trouble, but I couldn’t help
it. Mom’s look only made me laugh harder. Next, my younger brother joined in and oh what a scene we must have made. The fact the others didn’t even know why we were laughing made
the situation, literally, hysterical.

Confused as to what was happening, my older brother leaned forward looking down the row at me as if to ask what he was missing that could possibly be so funny. Not understanding didn’t
stop him, and next he started laughing. To say I made a fool of myself would be a gross understatement. To say I did it alone would be a lie.

We all tried to pull ourselves together, we really did. No one looked at anyone else, and all eyes were straight forward as we each held our breath in a feeble attempt to regain control. We might
have even been making some progress, until the final event sealed all our fates.

There was an older man sitting in the row directly behind us no one had paid any attention to, at least not until he ripped out a snore loud enough it could surely be heard at the North Pole. That
was it. We all disintegrated into fits, including Mom who then started laughing, too.

I don’t remember how we managed to escape, but I do know it was before the end of the service. I will never understand how the man behind us could have slept through our shenanigans, and
surely some of this is his fault, too.

So, that’s the story of how I got on Santa’s Naughty List. You could argue whether it was worth it or not, but the damage is done and the price must be paid. If you laughed, or even just cracked
a smile at any point while reading this story, then you’re on the List now, too.