(Tim Herrera is an author, newspaper columnist and writer living in Sacramento, California. This father of four is the author of two books: I'm Their Dad! Not Their Babysitter! and “Where the Dust Never Settles.”)
And the girl could not help but twirl. After all, it was her First Communion Day. Twirling was her God given right.
In the Catholic Church, making your First Communion is a monumental step. It gives children a greater connection to their faith. It also provides little girls with the opportunity to dress like brides and endure all the punishment that three older brothers can deliver.
When a little girl makes her First Communion only a select few words can suitably describe her that day: beautiful, radiant, picturesque. Or in the words of her older brothers: annoying or irritating.
“Dad! She’s twirling again!”
One of her brothers was trying to watch some significant cartoon show, but his view was obstructed by the flowing white dress of a little sister. Every step she took was a confident stride. Every turn she made was a willowy pirouette. She was wearing a beautiful white dress and a veil and when an eight-year-old girl wears something that special, she just has to twirl.
The magnificent outfit altered her behavior. It transformed her from a lanky little girl who trips over her own feet into an agile and flowing ballerina. Each step she took had a purpose. Every movement had meaning. Each and every twirl was a statement. She would spin much too closely to one of the boys clutching a Nintendo controller and we’d hear:
“Make her stop!”
Even a little sister dressed like a princess on her First Communion Day has no right to interfere with a possible all-time high Mario Brothers score.
“Don’t mind her,” my wife and I would say. “She’s just twirling.”
“It’ll pass.”
As we walked out of the house to make our way to church, our daughter promenaded. As we climbed into the minivan, one member of the entourage ascended. We drove in the midst of a small amount of traffic, which to at least one of us may have seemed like part of a parade.
One of the boys tugged at baby sister’s veil and she went from lamb to lioness. “Quit it!” she shrieked. “You’ll mess it up!” My wife and I tried to hold back our smiles.
“Make her take off the veil,” one of the boys laughed. “It’s making her act different.”
When we arrived at Good Shepherd Church, we found a flock of handsome little boys decked out in jackets and ties, and gorgeous little girls festooned in fancy white dresses, just right for sauntering.
“Honey, try to hold off on your twirling for a while,” we advised our daughter. We feared she’d knock over some burning candles or fall into the baptismal font. And since she was not alone, since she was sharing this day with a bunch of eight-year-old girls doodled up in flowing white dresses in one room, and it increased the chances of careless twirling accidents. Little boys, in their neckties and dress shirts look handsome, but you know they’re still ready for a wrestling match at a moment’s notice. Little girls, in fine formal attire, are poised for portraits but reckless twirling in a crowd could cause some serious Communion Day catastrophes.
The Mass began and the children paraded in. We were relieved to see our daughter walking solemnly, not spinning. When it came time for her to receive Communion, she smiled broadly as she approached the altar.
“Oh, no,” I whispered to my wife. “I think she’s going to twirl.”
Fortunately, she didn’t. She controlled herself and received communion without any unnecessary dance movements.
Finally, after Mass, it was time for photos. I took several pictures of my daughter with Father Philip Wells, our pastor, and some of the other kids in her class. And with a few pictures left on the roll, we placed our tiny dancer near the altar and said, “TWIRL!”
She did. She twirled and pirouetted and her fancy white dress lifted slightly as she spun. We still haven’t developed the film, so we’re not sure if last few snapshots came out. Even if they don’t, I’ll always have that mental picture of a blissful, spinning little girl etched in my mind.
