Rites of Passage

My First Holy Communion dress was white, and tantantala and beautiful. I was an odd stranger in it, the flowers in my short hair, and marched up to the church with all the other little boys and girls, a sea of excited white, with our stomachs going grrr grrr because you could not eat for at least an hour before you put God in your mouth. You had to be pure to receive God. You had to be in a state of sanctified grace.
I did not like First Holy Communion class. The Mzee catechist at Christ the King said that girls must not wear boys’ clothing, showed us the verse in the Bible and sent me home the first three Saturdays in a row. How was he to know that I owned only the one maroon dress, and I liked my shorts and trousers better too, shaa, and why should I have to wake up at 6 a.m. on a Saturday to go and recite the Hail Mary and Act of Contri…what was that word? Our Father who art in Heaven, he would make us chant and the girl with the big eyes said the mysteries and it was a good thing I always came in too late for him to ask me to lead because I didn’t know the one mystery from the other; I just bent my head dutifully over the rosary and muttered quickly along with everyone else.
You had to confess even if you didn’t want to confess, the older boys and girls said to us the day before the Communion. Make something up if you don’t know what to say. But wouldn’t that be a sin? I stole sugar from the cupboard when Mummy wasn’t looking and I put it in a cup and beat it with Blue Band, it was nice and sticky and sweet like that and you could lick the spoon by yourself if you ran away to your room before your brother came in. Was that a good sin? Was that a sin you could say to a Priest? You went up to the Priest to confess and your heart pounded in your chest and you prayed he wouldn’t hear your sins if you tumbled them out in a rush, and what if you didn’t say the same sin as all the others, did that make your sin worse? He told you, “Go my child and do not do it again,” when you were quiet again and, “Say three Hail Mary’s and one Our Father.” You sighed with relief. That was not so bad, that boy who went before you has been on his knees ten minutes, he must have said ten Hail Mary’s already and he is still going when you get up to leave. You are happy and clean and pure when you walk outside the church. Tomorrow you will have God inside your mouth. You can go to Heaven now you’re a proper Catholic.