Holy Sweary
The school year is over. MiniMe prepares for second class. I start clearing the bank account of the non-essentials – direct debits, loan repayments, sponsorship for blind orphaned cripples in Bangladesh – in preparation for our paying for that daftest of childhood traditions; being married off to a 33-year-old virgin hobo. Yessur, MiniMe is to make her First Holy Communion in 2010.
I’ve seen basil plants more religious than I am, so bankrupting myself in order to pay for a First Holy Communion right gets up my nostrils. But MiniMe insists. She wants to be a bride of Christenstein, so I must accommodate that by forking out for the white dress, the tiara, the shoes, the umbrella, the gloves, the bag, the ringlets, the fake tan, the manicure, the deep sea salt scrub, the lower back massage, the helicopter ride to the church, and the guard of honour by imported cheerleaders in High School Musical uniforms.
“How’s about not making your Communion?” I chanced, the other day. “Cool kids don’t want to make their Communions, you know. It’s far too conformist. You’re not a conformist, are you?”
MiniMe sighed, and got back to her Nintendogs game.
“White is so not your colour,” I went on. “You look all washed out when you wear white. What would the guitar-playing 9-year-old across the road say if he saw you all in white? He’d say you were sick! He’d write you off as a potential life-partner, and then what of your dreams of travelling Europe with him, busking daily through Green Day’s greatest hits and living on Coco Pops?”
No reaction from the Betrothed One.
“I’ll bring you to Disneyland?” says I.
“I think I’d rather make my Communion,” said she.
Who’d have thunk that my daughter’s religion would be … well, my cross? I denounced all interest in moralistic apparitions, ancient rule books, and hairy Middle-Eastern rabble-rousers many moons ago, probably when my own Communion money ran out (the spoils weren’t so marvellous back then either; an afternoon in the arcade in Salthill, playing PacMan and drinking Fanta, and God Knows what happened with the couple of fivers fecked my way – probably ended up in the coffers of a passing bingo-peddlar).
Not that Mini Me is glued to the Sound Of Music every afternoon and has worn dents in the carpet from marathon prayer sessions, or anything. And I suppose her insistence on the whole First Holy Communion thing isn’t exactly her fault and wasn’t entirely an independent notion; what little girl could refuse dressing-up on such a grand scale, especially when it’s sanctioned by both school and elderly, affluent grandaunts? An agnostic young mum with a devotion to Fallout 3 and hangovers cannot approach the same credibility, nor can she compete with benevolent authority figures waving Fischer Price ballgowns and sparkly tights. Besides, if I was to preach disbelief, I’d only be preaching alternative belief, which is, y’know, my problem with organised religion in the first place.
And fuck it. If Disneyland as a temptation didn’t steer my righteous little munchkin off the “right” path, what hope is there at all? I suppose there’s nothing for it but to give in.
Looks like the whole “becoming my mother” thing has skipped a generation.
my righteous little munchkin could be right all the time. The first player to do so wins the non-essentials direct debits.
Urban Legend (that’s Mrs Urban Legend* who phoned Kildare FM one morning) has it that the parents of a tanned and fully decked out little girl, when asked by the teacher why the child had not been at the church, replied nonchalantly that she had been delayed at the hairdresser and they had decided to skip it and go directly to the post-ceremony reception in a local hotel.
I wonder if MiniYou could be similarly waylaid. Win win!
*It may have been Mrs Rural Legend though I am certain the surname was Legend.
See, it’s so much easier being a slack, half-arsed Pagan. Any time the kids feel left out by religious things that their friends are doing, I can just make something up. And then their friends envy them.
Besides, neither government nor religions should issue unfunded mandates.
And that whole fake bride thing is creepy.
Sneezey’s idea is tastiest so far. I don’t think any of the kids around my gaff would be impressed if MiniMe skipped the white dress and patent shoes for prancing barefoot around a clover patch at full moon. And I just can’t wait for Armageddon to know whether I’ve been correct in paying the direct debits.
Terrance’s comment is very nicely cut-and-pasted, too. One would never think it was from a bingo (website) peddlar. Still, I’ve cut out the URL in it, so now it looks like a valid comment, footloose and bingo-free. Huzzah for the good guys, i.e. me.
Set her on the correct track and make her pay for it her self. There will be nothing like the sight of seeing her pocket money vanishing just after catching sight of it, week after week for the next ten months. If that does not soften her religious cough. She is not Irish or female. And if she does not get such moneys, it might be an ideal time to introduce the concept.
I knew of a Catholic boy who died after foregoing communion in his childhood. 84 years young he was. An absolute tragedy, and there’s not a doubt in my mind he’d have lived well into his 90s with a smidgen of Jesus flowing through his veins.
And that photo is disturbing on soooo many different levels
I don’t think I could make her pay for it herself, Vince. I am actually quite fond of the wee thing.
But so long as the photo disturbs you, I think we can all agree that my work here is done.
Flann, just think how long he would have lived had he been confirmed as well! I’d be confident I’m set til at least age 109, but my renouncing of the whole messy business on something so public as t’internet has probably set me back for expiring sometime in 2017. Such is
lifedeath.Ah women, a bull gores someone to death in Spain is by itself disturbing. But it does not mean that it disturbs me. Or a ‘plane falls out of the sky, disturbing. If I was on it, I would be disturbed.
And if I was related to the rugrat in the photo I might be disturbed, as I’m not, I consider it simply disturbing. A bit like naming ones kid, Chardonnay.
Over here (Westchester County, NY) many parishes have taken to providing guidelines for communion outfits….so that the girls aren’t wearing anything too grown-up or “over the top” so that they don’t look like baby beauty pageant contestants.
So much simpler for boys. Our Conor will be making his First Holy Communion next May and all we’ll have to do is find a blue suit for him…and keep our fingers crossed that he doesn’t fidget during the service (!). (Some of the little boys, I’m sure, will come in white suits, though, a look which always says “ice-cream salesman” to me…..)
The picture with this blog post is truly disturbing. Who, in God’s name, would bring a child dressed in such a manner into a church?? Or anywhere, for that matter (shudder).
MaryAnn
Sweary, she’s doing it for the money
Holy shite, for once the swearing lady has my complete sympathy when it comes to forking out for things that really do not exist.
May I suggest that rather than try to bribe the wean with trips across to that awfy hoor-ridden Amerikay, you simply stimulate her interest with something that most bairns of her age will appreciate?
200 Superkings, and a ltr bottle of Glen Voddie will probably turn her heid away fae the other spirits.
I have a godsquad kid too, where I got him I have no idea.
Here’s my suggestions
a) rustle up everything secondhand. They only wear the getup for a few hours for the love of God (literally)
b)Barbeque back at the house, everyone bring what they are drinking.
c) Agree that you get all or at least half of her stash of cash.
OR
tell her she’ll have to go to mass every single Sunday from now on , maybe that would dissuade her.
Please don’t tell me that you would fake tan your kid, is that an urban legend?
I wouldn’t fake tan or give her a lower back massage. Watch out! Hyperbole’s about!
Jimmy, do you really think a child hankering after the pretty white dress and parasol would be in any way interested in Superkings and Glen Voddie? That’s a whole different classification of child!
Sniffle, I hope so. I shudder to think there’s no ulterior motive.
MaryAnn, I’d love to see guidelines for communion outfits over here. They’d probably go down well in Rathkeale.
Hola Sweary!!
You must not deprive her of her God-given right to betrothe herself to Jesus! If you do I shall kidnap her and carry out the necessary riutals myself.
Besos
Manuel
Hi Sweary
I’m not that up on this Catholicism malarkey but isn’t she a bit young to be a Bride of Christ? Aren’t they the old dears who dawdle in galleries and play guitar? Or am I thinking of The Brides of Draclua?
Now there’s a film I’d pay to see “The Brides of Christ vs The Brides of Dracula”. Can’t you already imagine the orgy of blood,crucifixes and candlesticks? I know I can.
Bye
Martin
Feck it, what happened? Are you in a blogular Manuel sandwich?!
Minithee should commune holily as a Morticia Adams lookalike.
It’s alright darling I’ve signed us all up for the local Satanist Chapter. They hold their weekly meetings in the community centre every Sat at Midnight, goatses optional, suppose we could bring the rats…