By John McNeil
The ideal (?) start to the Day of Rest, and the reality for many households, are contrasted in this tongue-in-cheek script.
Narrator
Father
Mother
Son
Daughter
(The breakfast table in a suburban household. The table has already been set for breakfast &endash; even to the point of flowers &endash; obviously by a mother who takes pride in her family.)
Narrator: It is Sunday. A day of rest. A time to come together to worship the Lord, and enjoy the company of our fellow man. The spiritual family delights in this day, and enters it fully prepared to partake of the blessings that it brings.
(Enter Mother, with list in hand. She is fully dressed, including makeup and hairdo, and wearing a floral or frilly apron.)
Mother has already laid the table for breakfast the night before, and is now checking it against the menu given her by each member of her family.
Mother: Muesli for James...check. Cornflakes for Sarah...check. (She goes on checking, fussing over little details of the setting.)
Narrator: The head of the household has, of course, been playing his part also. Although not naturally an early riser, he has learned the value of self-discipline and was up at six for a jog around the park. After a quick shower, he then spent 45 minutes in personal quiet time, praying for his family, the preacher and worship leaders of today's service, and preparing his tithe and contribution to the church building fund. (Enter Father, tucking tithe envelope into his top pocket. He is also fully dressed.)
Father: Good morning, darling. (He kisses his wife. Regards the table.) Perfect, as usual. As the Psalmist so rightly pointed out, you are a treasure indeed. Is it time to call the children? (Mother takes from her apron a small bell, which she tinkles merrily. Father sits at the head of the table, while Mother goes to bring the tea pot from the kitchen.)
Narrator: Being a totally average suburban household, there are two-point four children in the family. (Enter children, neatly dressed, carrying the cardboard cutout of half a child, which they place in one of the chairs. )
Children: Good morning, daddy. (They sit.)
Father: Good morning, children.
Mother: (Enters, carrying the teapot.) Good morning, darlings. (She kisses each in turn.) Sarah, James, Robin (she also kisses the cutout. She then sits.)
Father: (Says grace. Ad lib.)
Sarah: Would you like the milk, mummy?
Mother: Thank you, darling. (To James, who is extracting butter from the dish with his own knife.) James! The butter knife, dear.
James: Sorry, mother.
Mother: Incidentally, is your homework done, dear?
James: Yes. Sarah put off watching her favourite Tv programme so she could help me with my project.
Sarah: (Pulls out a book) Have we got time for devotions, daddy, before we go to church? This is my favourite.
Father: Of course. We were up to Chapter 5, I believe?
Narrator: And so our family enjoy a companionable breakfast before strolling hand in hand to church.
(Family exits.)
.........................................................................................................
(The breakfast table again. This time, it is bare, except perhaps for a spilled packet of cornflakes or similar.)
Narrator: It is Sunday. A day of rest. A time to come together to worship the Lord, and enjoy the company of our fellow man. The spiritual family delights in this day, and enters it fully prepared to partake of the blessings that it brings.
(Enter Mother, carrying a cup of tea/coffee. She is in dressing gown and slippers, hair bedraggled. She trips over a book/magazine left lying on the floor.)
Mother: (Picks up the book) James!
Narrator: (Hesitant) Mother has already laid the table for breakfast the night before, and is now checking it against the menu given her by each member of her family.
Mother: (Louder) James! (Pause) Look at this! Never thinks of anyone else but... (exits).
Narrator: (Troubled) The head of the household has, of course, been playing his part also. Although not naturally an early riser, he has learned the value of self-discipline and was up at six to go for a jog around the park. After a quick shower, he then spent 45 minutes in personal quiet time, praying for his family, the preacher and worship leaders of today's service, and preparing his tithe and contribution to the church building fund.
(Enter Father, bleary eyed, carrying a cup of coffee. Definitely not dressed. He trips over a toy lying on the floor.)
Father: James! (Winces at the sound of his own voice, holds his head [not easy to do with a cup in one hand] and gropes for a chair.)
Mother: (Enters, carrying some knives and a plate of toast.) I don't have any sympathy for you. Staying up till goodness knows what hour watching the Cup. (She puts down the spoons none too gently. Father winces.) You look a right picture.
Father: You can talk!
Mother: I've got an excuse. My hairdryer just blew up. And you're not fixing it again with a bit of fuse wire, thank you. (Pause) Where are they? If we don't get cracking we'll be late again. James! Sarah! Get to the table this instant!
Sarah: (Dashes in, grabs a piece of toast.) The Smashing Pumpkins are on What Now! (Dashes out.)
Mother: Sarah! Come back this....
Sarah: (Offstage) James, you rat! You changed channels. Give me back that remote.
(Sounds of scuffle, fight.)
Narrator: (Hastily, fighting a losing battle) Being a totally average suburban household, there are two-point four children in the family.
James: (Enters crying.) Mum, Sarah hit me.
Sarah: (Follows) I did not! Or I wouldn't have if you hadn't changed channels to a stupid cartoon.
James: You got up and left.
Father: Cut it out, both of you. If you don't plant your butts at this table immediately, there'll be trouble. (Sarah sits moodily, nibbles half-heartedly at whatever can be found.)
Narrator: Oh, good grief! (Gives up in disgust, and leaves)
James: I'm not hungry.
Mother: Go and get dressed for church, then.
James: I am dressed.
Mother: Like that! You'll put on a clean shirt, thank you. (Pushes him out. Calls after him.) And two socks the same.
(To Father) And you'd better stop sitting there like a sick duck. Aren't you on door duty today?
Father: Good heavens, yes. I'd forgotten. (He scrabbles under the table.)
Mother: What are you looking for now?
Father: I'm sure I took my shoes off here last night. But I can only find one.
Sarah: I saw Spot playing with a shoe under the couch earlier on.
Father: What was he doing inside?
Sarah: James probably let him in.
Father: Oh good grief! (He mimes looking under a couch.)
Mother: Don't sit there like a stuffed dummy, girl. You get ready, too.
Sarah: I don't want to go to church.
Mother: I beg your pardon!?
Sarah: It's boring. And none of my friends go there.
Father: (Emerges from under couch bearing other shoe.) Look at this! I'll murder that animal.
Mother: Put a smile on your face, dear. You can't greet people looking like that.
Sarah: I don't want to go to church with a bunch of hypocrites.
Father: When you turn 18, my girl, you can make your own decisions. But till then, you come with us.
Sarah: (Starts to leave.) You can make me go, but you can't make me enjoy it! (Stops, turns.) Dad?
Father: What!?
Sarah: (Malicious) Why don't we have devotions at breakfast?
© John McNeil 1999
All rights reserved
This play may be performed free of charge, on the condition that
copies are not sold for profit in any medium, nor any entrance fee
charged.
In exchange for free performance, the author would appreciate being
notified of when and for what purpose the play is performed.
He may be contacted at: soul.communication@outlook.com
Or at: 36B Stourbridge St, Christchurch 8024, New Zealand.