Confirmation

Around this time 23 years ago I was preparing for what, at the time was one of the biggest occasions of my life. Eleven year old Jayhaitch was studying hard in anticipation of what was ‘the greatest gift’ he would ever receive. I was getting ready for my Confirmation.

As a member of the Catholic Church it is a rite of passage for everyone around the age of 11 or 12 to receive the Sacrament of Confirmation in order to solidify their bond with God and the Catholic Church. It was a very serious thing and the pre adolescent me thought it was a huge responsibility and great honour at the same time. Mostly because I was told that it was.

Months and months of preparation were involved. My classmates and I had to go into school 30 minutes early everyday for extra religious education. We read various passages of the bible. We learned new hymns for the ceremony and made posters and decorations for the church. Each morning we were taught something different to prepare us for the upcoming event.

The promise of a stronger connection with our God was offered, as long as we were willing to accept him and live by his teachings. Excitement coursed through me as the day got closer. It was all we could talk about in class.

Everybody got a brand new outfit. I got a grey leather jacket, dark slacks, a white pinstripe shirt and, something I was really proud of at the time, a skinny leather grey tie. I got a fancy flat top haircut which involved me using hair mousse for the first time. I looked fantastic. I imagine how Kate Middleton felt before the wedding was something similar to what I was experiencing.

All this was of course for the showing me off to family and friends who, because they were so impressed at what a handsome little catholic I was, would give me a card with money inside it. Each of my friends had plans for what they were going to do with their ‘confo money.’ Some were getting BMX’s, others a Commodore 64. I think I bought a basketball.

One part of the ceremony was The Pledge. A promise made before God that you will not drink alcohol until you are 18. In years gone by it had to be made in public but by the time I made my confirmation it was a secret pledge so you could choose to make it or not. Planning to take it, I spent the day before drinking 6 cans of Club Shandy (all 0.05% volume of alcohol and legal to sell to minors) so I wouldn’t miss on booze. I believe I broke the pledge five times...which in fairness for an Irish teenager is not bad.

Then there was the actual confirmation. With my sponsor, my Godmother Ann, leading me up to the altar, the archbishop asked what name I was taking. I chose the confirmation name Peter, mostly because he lobbed off the soldier’s ear in the Garden of Gethsemane (which by the way has inspired way more works of art than an act of violence should.) Then he confirmed me, John Patrick Peter, as a member of the church and I went off to live my life as a good catholic.

Or rather, I didn’t. I write this piece as a way of confirming myself an atheist. Not one of those religion bashing, smug, condescending ones. If you believe in god I won’t judge you. In the same way, I expect to not be considered evil because I don’t share your way of thinking. And I promise I won’t try and covert you if you afford me the same respect. For me, it just doesn’t make any logical sense.

So, on the 30th of April 2011 I, John Holohan, taking the name Beer Belly Jarvis, wish to confirm my Atheism. I pledge that I will get drunk at least twice in the next seven days and my outfit for this special occasion is flip flops, green shorts, a Mr. Grumpy T-shirt and a grey hoodie.

If anyone wishes to send me cards with money in them send me a private email and I will forward you my address.

Flamingo

Have you ever wondered what kind of person bares their soul on such a public forum as a blog? Why would anyone want to reveal their innermost feelings and thoughts? How can I sit here and candidly broadcast to the world (that’s right, the entire world reads my blog)my most intimate secrets?

Its not that I set out on my little writing “journey” with the intention of it being so personal. It started when I was supposed to be writing a light hearted little review of my 2009. It was supposed to delivered in the standard glib, sarcastic, one trick pony, jokey manner that anyone who knows me will have become accustomed to in the last however many years I’ve been rocking the grumpy smart ass gimmick.

However as I started to write that piece what flowed from me was the most open and honest I’ve ever been with anyone. Especially myself. I revealed stuff about myself that, while was never a secret, I was afraid to put out there for public judgement. And it felt great. It was cathartic and therapeutic. It made me realise that if I was going to this writing thing properly, it was the only way I could do it.

And what it has actually done is teach me to be open and honest in reality too. I think I’ve always tended to be up front about my opinion on things or how I felt if I didn’t like something. I’m not sure that was the case though when dealing with myself and my feelings. And if you can’t be honest with yourself, can you really be honest with anyone else?

That’s one of the reasons. Its not, however, the only one. Another of the main reasons I do this is much less noble. I do it because of ego. Simply I like to show off. I always have done. I write for the same reason I did stand up comedy and the same reason I was in the drama society. Its my way of saying “Hey! Hey! Hey! Hey!….look at this” (proceeds to do cyber cartwheels…in a skirt…while wearing no underwear.)

A lot of people would find it funny that I call myself a show off. To some people, I’m a quiet unassuming chap who would never be so bold. These people don’t really know me. I have a tendency to hang back and weigh up my options before throwing the real me out there. Its something I’ve always done. I’ll probably continue to do it. I’m ok with people having the wrong opinion of me for a while. I like to be a surprise.

When I say I like to show off, I don’t want you think that I go around winking at people going “That’s right. Its me. From the internet” What I mean is that its always nice to be good at something. And if your good at it you should let it out.

I think I’ve always been capable of being a good writer. Back when I was in school, I was pretty good but then what was I being compared to. The teachers seemed to think I was good though. They always gave me competitions to enter. Always encouraged me. Recommended things I should be reading.

Frank Connolly, Br Declan Power, Br. Lynch (never figured out his first name) Paddy Furlong (he encouraged me to write in Irish) and Timmy Cullen were all an enormous influence on me in secondary school. They seemed to recognise that I was good at something and in a system that didn’t necessarily allow for much individual attention, they ensured that I got enough of an ego boost from my writing that I didn’t stay the shrinking violet I was headed towards becoming.

In primary school Denis Costello dedicated Friday afternoon to reading a book of our own choosing. He helped me find the escape that could come from literature and the thrill of finding a piece that excited and challenged the mind. He would play music that eleven and twelve year olds from Crumlin wouldn’t normally listen too. I’d like to say classical but there was a bit too much James Galway and James Last for it to be called that. However it did open my ears and tastes to something different than Top of the Pops.

Who knows if they’ll ever get to read this, but if they do I’d like them to know I appreciated it then and I really appreciate it in hindsight. When I finished school I wanted to be writer. Fifteen and half years later. I still do. Thanks to them. It’s just taken me a while to do anything about it.

There are other people who I know read my stuff that have been essential in crafting my style and direction as a writer. I won’t name them. There is only room for one big head on this blog. One day I will thank them. Properly. If (when) I ever get to publish a book, their names will be there in the dedication page. That’s the way we writers do it.