by Kathy Philpott

Created on: January 07, 2010

He sat high atop a large, pegged tree in the toy store.  We fell in love with him the minute we saw him.  My daughter and I asked the sales person to retrieve him for us.  He was just as charming close up as he appeared on the puppet tree. 

We drove back to our apartment with our new charge, literally, in hand.  As we journeyed, we listened to the Three Tenors on the CD player.  With her small hand adjusting inside the puppet, my daughter made him come to life.  He was pretending to sing with the CD.  We both laughed out loud.  Placido sang and so did our newly named friend, Figaro.  With every song, Figaro’s antics had a life of their own.

I was a new music teacher at a small Catholic school.  With my daughter’s permission, I enlisted Figaro’s help with my new charges.  It was not just the younger children that fell in love with him.  His charm knew no bounds.  Figaro never spoke.  He whispers his comments into the ears of who ever is playing with him.  Each person becomes free to interrupt Figaro’s personality.  My eighth grade girls created a Figaro Fan Club.  Children made him Halloween costumes and brought him presents at Christmas time.  During parent teacher conferences, just when I thought I was communicating at a professional level, the parents would ask to see Figaro.  Even the school principle was caught up in the Figaro frenzy.  She made the bold suggestion that Figaro write an advice column for the school newspaper.  “Sue” I exclaimed.  “Figaro is a puppet!  He’s not real.”

“I know”, she replied.  “I still think it’s a good idea”.  Figaro wrote for the school newspaper each month.

One year, I had an especially wild, rather immature, kindergarten class.  The only span of attention that we bridged together was any activity involving Figaro.  Not having the greatest classroom management skills at my command, I became painfully aware that the Figaro fascination was close to being out of control.  I responsibly decided to remedy the situation.

One Monday morning, my group of wild, wide-eyed kindergarteners arrived and found me sitting on the floor with Figaro on my lap.  Without hesitation they joined me by sitting quietly in a circle never taking their eyes off Figaro.

As we settled into place, I calmly explained that

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