WORDS: The role of my dreams?

by Nikki M. Mascali
Weekender Editor

I always wanted to be an actress. I’m such a ham and — most of the time — I love being the center of attention. So it’s kind of hard to believe I am not ensconced in some local theatre troupe or, at the very least, the lead actress in the next big-budget film.

Unfortunately, there’s one thing standing in the way of my Oscar/Tony: A debilitating case of stage fright.

It is what it is, and I’m OK with that.

As grade school students, my classmates at Gate of Heaven and I had to take part in every school play regardless of our musical/acting ability. Sure, there were some standout performers, like one girl whose opera-worthy voice blew everyone away, but the majority of us cowered in the back as we sang in the chorus.

But one year, one Christmas pageant to be exact, it was my time to shine.

I remember being so excited when I told my mom that I had a prominent part in that year’s Nativity play.

“Really? Are you Mary?” she had asked, impressed.

“Nope,” I said.

“Um, are you Baby Jesus?” she tried again.

I shook my head, which prompted her to ask if I was an angel since the remaining people present at the manger were men.

“Nope,” I said again.

Mom gave up guessing and told me to tell her what part I had.

“I am the donkey!” I shrieked.

From that moment on, I vowed to be the best donkey Gate of Heaven ever saw, so I practiced a lot. And when I say practice, you bet I mean walking around the house braying nonstop. In the industry, we call this “method acting.”

My donkey ensemble, supplied by our music teacher, included a fuzzy brownish-gray suit and a fabulous matching head with a white stripe down the snout and a furry black mane. To make sure I was not mistaken for a human playing a donkey, I donned brown gloves and wore brown boat shoes. Under the costume — because I find it very important for you to know, since it was my absolute favorite outfit — I wore hot pink stirrup pants with an equally chic sweatshirt that was hot pink, teal and white. It had the words “International Trademark” emblazoned across the front and also featured a green and blue map. It was an incredible get-up.

My sole duty as Lead Donkey, as I like to be known (even though I was the only donkey), was to simply walk down the aisle on all fours with my two classmates who were playing Mary and Joseph as we looked for a place to stay for the evening.

During rehearsals, I bumped heads with our music teacher because, for the final song, she wanted me to stand up with the rest of the class. I was adamantly against that. I remember saying to her that there is no feasible explanation for a donkey to be up on two legs. Again, method acting.

Finally, it was the night of the play. I proudly got dressed in my costume and made my way slowly down the stairs in the back of the school’s auditorium/cafeteria. Joseph led me down the main aisle between the rows of seats and my mother, being in an aisle seat, pinched my bottom as I passed, which made me fume. Who pinches donkeys, really?

The rest of the play was a blur, and I don’t remember much. I’m sure I gave a few brays for good measure, being so serious about my craft and all.

And that was the end of my acting career, unless you count the Weekly Dose videos on our Web site every Monday. The Oscar winner wannabe needs to be let out every once in a while, you know.

P.S.: Yes, I did stand for that final song. But I was one angry ass doing so.

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