"I love me mam/She done me nails/Me shoes are really bling/I love me dress/Me gloves me veil/And the purse me phone is in/I love me (insert name of ubiquitous Irish jewellery brand that's also the name of a town in Co Kildare) too/Me little silver dove/It's a sign of peace and love/But I can't stand Emmy Lou."
This is the text that accompanies an ad for this season's latest range of Communion jewellery. The ad features a photo of a spirited little girl wearing full Communion regalia. You know the kind of thing. A child-sized wedding dress teamed with impractical white lace gloves and flowing veil, all of which has the effect of turning seven- and eight-year-old children into mini-bridezillas.
The holy ambition of the little girl's gear is rather spoiled by the fact that she is also sticking her tongue out and squinting her eyes in the direction, presumably, of the hated Emmy Lou, who is not pictured. Her absence is a pity, because I reckon Emmy Lou's parents must have dressed her up in a cream monk's robe accessorised with chunky wooden rosary beads like the poor girl in my class who, because of her parent's sartorial blunder, got ostracised by the white-dress pack on Communion day. Such a fashion faux pas might explain the filthies Emmy Lou is getting from the two little angels in the picture.
Anyway, the ad makes me smile purely because of the naked truth it brings to the subject. The unashamedly materialistic message allows for something many parents of seven- and eight-year-olds can't quite bring themselves to admit in the run-up to Communion season, at least not out loud and definitely not in front of the children.
The fact is that the dressing-up, the cultural rite of passage and the opportunity for a party afforded by Communion often count more than what actually goes on in the church. For some parents, going along with the teaching that the Communion wafer represents the body of Christ is up there with making sure the offspring don't find out the truth about Santa Claus too soon. One day the children will decide for themselves whether Santa exists or whether the transformation of bread and wine into the flesh and blood of a prophet occurs during Mass, but why spoil their fun now? Especially with such a cute new jewellery range to choose from.
In fairness to the Church, it's not as though it approves €500 per head and counting for wedding rig-outs for children. You are always hearing about this priest or that bishop who has tried to take a stand. Of course if church authorities really minded the explosion of lace, taffeta and sequins, they could ban Communion dresses altogether and insist that robes were worn over school uniforms instead. That would be a real commitment to the ritual. As it is, First Holy Communion is now being celebrated in a national ad campaign as a little girl's first, tentative steps towards embracing the dogma of materialism.
I get on really well with my six-year-old niece and fairy god-daughter, Hannah. We like the same musicals and the same books, and we share a love of freshly iced cup cakes. Lately, though, there is an area where we have clashed. In church, before the christening of her brother, she
started going on about God and Jesus, and when I suggested to her that not everyone believed in those things, she put her hands over her ears and told me to stop telling lies. In a restaurant the other day, she was telling me about a Bible video they'd been shown in school, and when I suggested it might be better if she didn't believe everything she saw in these videos, she got cross with me again. The way I see it, I'm doing her a favour by occasionally challenging the religious brainwashing doled out to children. The way she sees it I'm being a holy pain in the neck.
She's probably right, and I know that as a result of this column I'll get e-mails and anonymous letters written in green ink making that very point far less diplomatically. Because, you know, sure, what harm? So what if eight-year-olds about to embark on a supposedly significant religious ritual care more about blinging shoes and silk purses that are big enough to hold their mobile phones? So what if their nails are painted at the beauty place and their skins are suntanned at the salon? So what if in the name of religion they are paraded around as symbols of virginity when what they are is children, not miniature throwbacks to some immaculate conception?
Perhaps the first penance after the first confession could be amended to better prepare them for the reality of First Communion. Say 10 Hail Marys. And spend at least two hours in the accessories department. Amen.
