Silver bells.

Christmas programs are seared into childhood memories for two reasons — something went terribly wrong or something was utterly magical.

Growing up in Hillsboro in the 1970s and 1980s guaranteed you a spot in one of Mrs. Woods’ Christmas productions. Her programs relied heavily on holiday traditions that resonate in our hearts and musical magic that warms our souls.

When I was a first grader, my mother was nine months pregnant with my youngest brother. Somehow in the chaos of the holidays, the pregnancy and a house full of five kids eight years old and younger, the note that said I needed a mouse costume was lost.

I was the Hickory Dickory Dock mouse, the one who ran up the clock. The night of the program my mother relied on crepe paper, staples and blind faith. We arrived at the school and she stapled me into my costume and prayed that I’d remain there. I managed my dance around the clock and only popped a couple staples. I didn’t dare take a deep breathe for fear my white paper suit would become white paper streamers.

My performance completed, I clearly recall crouching on the floor with the rest of the nursery rhyme creatures. I watched in amazement as “Suzy Snowflake” waltzed around the floor. Frosty the Snowman must have been somewhere nearby. In that moment, I dreamed that when I was a 6th grader I’d get to wear a real costume, one without staples. (Just for the record, I’ve forgiven my mother for the crepe paper suit but she lets me tease her about once a year because it makes us both laugh until we cry.)

I’ll never forget that moment as a little paper mouse — what seemed like a fiasco was all turned around. Someday I would be a magical character in the Christmas program — I just knew it.

Mrs. Woods was also a matchmaker. When I was a fourth grader, she picked me and two other girls to be Silver Bells. We were dressed in navy blue dresses trimmed in tin foil. We stood on a small stage as one of our classmates rocked back and forth pretending to pull a rope and ring the bells. The bell ringer would one day be my husband.

Over the years, every student took their assigned place in the bleachers on the stage. White surplices (giant dish towels with holes in the middle) were pulled over our heads and draped on our shoulders. A big bow — red or green — was tied around our neck. We lined up in perfect rows — a hundred smiling faces anxious to sing “We Wish You a Merry Christmas” with the just right emphasis on wishshshshshsh. It just seemed so perfect through my child’s eye.

By the time I was a 6th grader, I waited in anticipation. I so wanted to be Suzy Snowflake and wear some fancy costume.

At rehearsals one day, a bunch of 6th grade girls were assigned to be carollers. Out of nowhere, we were given beautiful velvet capes, muffs and hats to wear. We were supposed to twirl and sing — like carollers do. I wasn’t Suzy Snowflake but I was the next best thing. I had a costume and there were no staples — just a cluster of holly, berries and nuts on my bonnet. How fitting!