First Communion – What Not to Wear.....

We spent last week trying to sort out the boy’s threads for next month’s First Holy Communion.
I dragged the boy through 10 different shops, tried on a positive mountain of occasion wear, matched shirts to his hair colour and made several attempts at gearing him out with footwear. But the boy was not happy.
What kind of suit do you want? I would ask him. He would shrug his shoulders. Is it a grey one you’re after? The shop assistant would inquire. What about this lovely stripey shirt and tie combo? More shaking of his head and shrugging.
As I discussed the hopelessness of the situation with the shop assistant Daniel called me from across the shop to say he had found the perfect suit. It must be perfect, I thought, practically rugby tackling other shoppers to get to the one and only outfit that had actually made my boy smile for the first time that day.
And there it was, in all its glory. The full Darth Vader suit – long black flowing cloak, big black shiny headgear and red light saber, which makes whooshy and whirly noises.
I told him it wouldn’t really go down well in the church.
He didn’t care.
I told him all the other boys would be wearing real suits, as in waistcoat and shirt, not midnight black breastplate with red flashy lights and high boots with knee pads built in.
He said he didn’t care.
He said that people at that chapel on the day would be able to sense his confidence, as well as his off-the-chart midichlorian count as he strode up to the altar to receive his First Holy Communion. He said that once the priest did the whole sign of the cross thing he would be able to say ‘Amen’ in a deep, smoky heavily computerised voice. He said his mates would be so impressed they would high-five him on the way back to his seat. He said that this suit would render him literally unstoppable, except maybe at the buffet afterwards. He said he’d like to dine at a restaurant afterwards that served MGD 64 because chips wouldn't fit in through the breathing gaps in his helmet.
He said he was wearing this suit or no suit at all. That was my choice.
As I pondered the suit I did, for a moment, contemplate the advantages of those sturdy, black shoulderpads, the handiness of those black, padded gloves, the fact that the helmet would infact keep the bright sun off his fair skin. At least it was practical. At least he would get some wear out of it.
As it happened to be World Star Wars Day there was a variety of costumes on display. I’ll admit I had a vision of us in the church that day. And, by golly, it was spectacular.
I’d be in Princess Lea’s get-up – granted the metallic bikini may be uncomfortable for a particularly long mass but I’d be willing to pay the price for fashion. We could pray that we get a priest who prefers a short and sweet service as the husband will only be able to endure a brief period dressed as the rather hairy Chewbacca. Caolan would be a fabulous Stormtrooper. Finn the terrible will make a great R2-D2 and the wheeled underbelly of the robot will prevent him from running up and down the aisles shouting obscenities during the quiet bits of the mass. The baby will, of course, is the perfect size for Yoda. It may take a while to paint her skin green, and I suppose we could get baby-friendly super glue for the pointy ears, but if we are going to do it, we are going to do it right.
We will surely turn heads.
The countdown is on. Only four weeks to go. May the June fourth be with you – Sith Lord and Jedi alike.