I haven’t worn a suit in a long time. In a way, that’s a good thing — it means there have been no funerals, but it also means there are no hooleys, shindigs, or squats. Covid stopped our gallop and in that time I just assumed that I could sit at home and eat brownies, blondies and pretty much anything made with pounds of butter and my body wouldn’t change all that much. Last Saturday morning was a rude awakening as I struggled to find a suit in the closet that still fit me when my middle son celebrated his first communion.
It may have been a while since I had to get dressed, but it wasn’t a situation where I could risk dressing up. You never want to be one of those chino and polo shirt churchgoers who don’t seem to understand that Jesus is really just a heavenly Anna Wintour and that when he’s giving a soiree you have to make an effort; No one wore chinos to the Last Supper, which was actually the Met Gala of its day.
But while you need to be formal, you also need a good fit as kneeling, standing and sitting during a religious ceremony puts extra pressure on all seams and the chances of a seam ripping is pretty high. It’s hard to mock the chino wearer when you’re present in the Lord’s house with a split bottom revealing jaundiced Tesco boxers. My atheism is not so obvious that I want to berate half the congregation at Midleton Church.
There had been a discussion suggesting that I should buy a new suit, but in this economy that would never happen. Instead, we broke the seal on our meager savings account and fixed everything we could do around the house. It got to the point where we spent so much money on painting and decorating that we didn’t have much left for the kid’s outfit whose holy day it was, so he ended up being one of those chino people we have gave him a dickiebow to try to elevate his look from yacht club casual to something awe-inspiring.
Almost every other kid wore a suit, of course, but who cares—he took communion, didn’t burst into flames, and we all drove home to my hastily painted window sills, rooms freshly dampened with Febreze, and the cleanest toilet to show off Western Europe to friends and family far and wide. Everyone ate, drank and was merry and it was what you would call a special day blessed with glorious sunshine, good food and family – not to mention the fact that many of us have not seen the inside of a church on a regular basis had since the 1990s.
The question arises: What will we do after religion for such rituals and rites of passage? What replaces the big day when we all pile into ill-fitting clothes and almost collapse from heat stroke in a church parking lot? I think it’s a sign of getting older that I look forward to religious ceremonies like weddings, communions, and baptisms—you can dodge a birthday party or turn down an invitation to a regular social event, but church functions are a different story .
After two years of sitting around the house eating cake in my stretchy pants, I would have accepted an invitation to an exorcism if there was a buffet afterwards, but it was still a great day — and best of all, my son beaming to be seen ear to ear in being the center of attention, rather than just receiving his usual quota of just 25 percent of the attention in a home where it’s easy to blend into the background. All my children deserve at least a few days a year to be the center of attention, to be photographed with and by everyone, to drink several liters of Coke, to eat pizza and to spend the day with almost no adult supervision, except for the des Holy Spirit.
https://www.independent.ie/life/family/parenting/after-two-years-of-sitting-at-home-i-look-forward-to-every-religious-ceremony-going-now-41660290.html After two years of sitting at home, I now look forward to every religious ceremony
