There are some childhood memories that sit quietly in the background of your mind – and then there are others that lurk in the shadows, arms crossed, waiting for you to bring them up so they can yell, “Remember when that happened? Yeah, that was messed up.”
For me, one of those memories is the Great Nun Dress Debacle of my first communion.
Actually, it started a year earlier – with my sister’s first communion. For context, my dad’s side of the family includes a few nuns, which is fine. I respect their decision. God’s calling, vows of silence, all that. Cool. But the thing about vows of silence is that I thought they were supposed to keep you from loudly making life decisions for other people, especially little girls just trying to celebrate a rite of passage with a pretty white dress.
But no. My aunt – my nun aunt – took it upon herself to sew an outfit for my sister’s first communion. No discussion. No “Hey, do you want to look like an adorable little cupcake with lace and flowers like the rest of the girls or would you prefer covering up from head to toe?” Just: “Here’s your custom-made, full-coverage, white nun costume. You’re welcome.”
It had the head covering. It had the long sleeves. There might have been buttons somewhere, I can’t remember. Either way, it was a miniature nun habit – just white and long and not cute, no offense.
The kicker? My sister didn’t even want to be a nun. We were just… Catholic. Go to mass every weekend and go to Catechism Catholic.
But because my dad’s side of the family has this unspoken rule that “respect your elders” also means “let your relatives hijack your life decisions,” she wore it.
And then a year later, when it was my turn for first communion, guess what I got to wear?
Yup.
My sister, who should’ve become a lawyer because of the way she worked this situation, managed to convince my parents that if she had to wear it, so should I. Apparently, first communion fashion is hereditary now. My nun aunt didn’t even have to lift a finger this time. Her legacy was stitched into the seams of that outfit. It was decided. I was going full Sister Loops.
And let me tell you – I hated it.
First communion is supposed to be about spiritual growth and receiving the Eucharist for the first time, and yes, I know theologically that’s the priority. But I was seven. I didn’t care about theological depth. I cared that all the other girls looked like little brides and I looked like I was about to take a vow of celibacy.
I remember our post-church party, where as soon as we drove up, I ran into the house, grabbed a change of clothes, and immediately peeled off the nun dress like it was a prison jumpsuit. My parents were annoyed, but come on – I did the holy thing, I sulked through the ceremony, got my first Eucharist, and gave the peace. I earned that wardrobe change.
To this day, whenever I see that aunt, I think you ruined my first communion drip.
Some girls dream of princess dresses. I got Vatican cosplay.
And I’ve never fully forgiven it.
Love, Loops