Didn’t expect to see many people at the annual Christmas Sing-a-long at the Organ Pavilion in Balboa Park, Sunday, December 20, since the Chargers game against the Cincinnati Bengals was kicking off at one in the afternoon, and the Sing-a-long started at two. But no, the pavilion was nearly full: Older folks, tourists, dog owners, people who don’t like football (not one Chargers teeshirt in sight, although there was a man wearing a Chargers’ jersey but that was probably because he wanted to match his dog who had on a Chargers jersey).

I caught the game kickoff on television, then drove to the Park with my son, we parked down by the Marie Hitchcock Puppet Theatre, and walked up to the Pavilion; as we had driven along Park Boulevard, I was surprised to see the amount of cars at the Zoo and parked by the Space Museum, and all along the Boulevard. We had a bit of a struggle to find a parking space, but after that it was all a breeze. We were early, so we strolled along, past the traditional religious dioramas set up at the back of the Pavilion; it is much prettier to see them at night when the stars are out and the lighted stars are on, and everything is glowing. The Annunciation, No Room at the Inn, The Shepherds Tending Their Flocks, The Babe in the Manger, The Wise Men, The Child at the Temple, and the last scene, Suffer the Little Children to Come Unto Me.

I got a bit choked up reading the signs posted at each of the dioramas out loud to my son; each scene had so much personal relevance to me, as well as their own profound and beautiful mystery, the combination was somewhat overwhelming. The first scene, my favorite, is the Annunciation. In all the history of humankind, only one woman, Mary, has known the exact moment of conception. God sent his angel to tell her, and to tell her that her cousin Elizabeth was also with child. Then, it was only God who could cause Elizabeth, a woman who had been barren, to conceive a child. In this modern world, when selected bits and pieces are mixed in a Petri dish and with optimal precision inserted into the waiting uteri of fifty-year-old women, there is no more searching the heavens for angels or telltale stars, we look now through microscopes for patterns, for diagrams in printouts, there is none of the wonder of seeking to know what child is this when the babe has already met the desired specifications. Our souls will eventually be made to order via our DNA; we will be our own God and Mary and angels and stars.

After walking by the Christmas scenes, we settled in on a metal bench and listened as the organist, Dr. Carol Williams, British lady, judging by her accent, introduced and played Christmas music. There was the traditional dog parade while Dr. Williams played Winter Wonderland, and there was public participation in singing Christmas carols, the words long familiar to me as a member of the Logan Elementary school choir back when I was a kid. I remember how a school bus would take us members of the choir around to different schools to perform, wearing our robes and collars, and how we were rewarded for our efforts with warm applause and cookies and milk.

If any of you are familiar with the Balboa Park Organ Pavilion, you know that it is a building with curved colonnades stretching out from either side of the building, a large plaza in front of the building housing the pipe organ lined with metal benches. Toward the end of the show, while everyone was singing, I looked at my son seated on my right and over his shoulder saw a man near one of the columns doing what at first I thought could be warm up stretches, wearing a very nice suit minus the tie and plus a hanky in his breast pocket and chichi loafers. He was standing gracefully on one black toe, the other beautifully arced behind him, balancing himself with one hand against the column. Then I saw a photographer with one of those huge cameras taking pictures of the man as he struck a few more poses. Who is this elegant fellow?, I thought, a ballet dancer? And then I looked closer at the man and said to myself, My goodness, that looks like Louis Van Amstel from Dancing With The Stars. If that wasn’t Louis, then he has a twin in San Diego.

After the program was over, my son and I took a walk around the Santa Claus display then got in the car to go and get some lunch. Later, I tried to take my son to watch the Parade of Lights but there was no parking whatsoever anywhere near the Embarcadero, so we gave up and went home. I played my Clay Aiken Merry Christmas With Love CD and sang along with the old favorites. The big songs, especially Don’t Save It All For Christmas Day, I let Clay sing alone, for the pleasure of hearing that angelical voice, those heavenly high notes at the end. I’ve only ever been just a member of the choir, the shine and sparkle belongs to the soloist, the true star of the show.