I went to a small Catholic girls’ college in White Plains, New York. Our Christmas Pageant was legendary there. It was an evening of carols, sung by the glee club, in a candle-lit chapel, beautifully decorated with poinsettia plants, berries, and beribboned evergreens.

The piece de resistance, of the night, was twelve senior girls, dressed as angels, wearing gossamer wings, haloes, and gowns. They solemnly processed into the chapel, as the choir sang “Angels We Have Heard on High.” They made a beautiful, living tableau. 

My roommate, of four years, was one of the angels. She looked lovely. After the event, as we were packing to go home for the winter break, I asked her how were the angels chosen? 

“I mean, did you have to write an essay, or get a good grade in Moral Theology?”

Privately, I was thinking, “I got good grades in Moral Theology. I could have written an essay. I could have been an angel . . . “

Carol looked at me with exasperation. “Jonnie,” she said. “You had to be pretty.”