Oisinn, Fionn and JP were dumbfounded when they heard me out. Absolutely shocked. “Is this true?” asked they.
“Yes, indeed,” I responded, “Leo addressed his hockey instructor as ‘Hot Stuff’ and now the headmaster wants to make a fuss about it.”
Oisinn questioned, “Are you certain you weren’t the one who kicked up a storm?”
Rather exasperated, I retorted, “All I did was let the headmaster know that such an attitude might force me to concern myself with finding a different academy for the triplets.”
“He dared to accept your proposition?” JP exclaimed.
“Almost wrenched my arm off,” I replied. “Sorcha has informed me that a fresh school for the lads has to be found by August – a month that’s seemingly just around the corner.”
“What misfortune,” uttered Oisinn.
“Indeed, that’s my stance as well,” I confirmed.
For the record, this conversation was happening at The Bridge while JP was getting us our usual – four pints of the green brew – giving us moments to further deliberate my unfortunate situation.
“What’s the idea about Willow Park?” proposed Fionn.
I replied, less than optimistic, “Hardly – they’ve rejected our applications twice in the past.”
“What about St Mary’s then?” Oisinn suggested.
“No hope,” I said, “They didn’t leave any room for doubt when we last applied.”
“Yeah, they’re indeed infamous for their inflexible admission norms. What about CBC Monkstown?” asked JP.
“No chance,” I replied, “Their vice-headmaster was around the day my kids decided to decapitate Mr Tayto’s statue at Tayto Park. The only reason we secured our position at St Kilian’s was due to Sorcha’s school connections with Mr Schwarzenbeck.”
“Have you considered an entirely Irish school?” suggested Fionn.
I was about to respond with a sarcastic comment, when it suddenly dawned on me.
“Hang on, where does Hilary study? Is it St Adomnán’s?” I questioned.
Fearing the worst, Fionn became instantly worried.
“They wouldn’t last a day at St Adomnán’s,” he replied. It was obvious he feared my lads would lower the school’s standards. To be frank, they probably would.
In a discussion about school options for my three children, who are a bit of a handful, I raised the prospect of enrolling them at St Adomnán’s. The main objection was that it’s a Protestant institution, but my response was one of nonchalant dismissal, “I have a proclivity towards the Protestants, and harbour no bias.”
In fact, there lies some curious truth. Whenever I have something to be fixed – be it accounting issues, legal advice or dishwasher breakdowns – I invariably lean towards individuals with Protestant-reminiscent monikers; an odd idiosyncrasy passed down by my father. I argue, “Protestants are dependable”, using Fionn as an example and his extraordinary Leaving results.
Though appreciative of the commendation, Fionn contests, “A warm regard for Protestants doesn’t render you a Protestant.” undeterred, I insist, “Then I’ll just convert.”
Conversion is not so simple, he says, challenging my simplistic approach to become a Protestant. However, I retort by playing down the complexity, equating it to signing up for gym memberships, something I’ve been known to do on several occasions only to cancel during the 30-day grace period. He tries to emphasise that being a Protestant is not just filling in a form and filling in boxes, which I dismiss flippantly.
I highlight the widespread trend in South Dublin of feigning Protestantism to get a school admission in top schools, painting a comical picture with the ubiquity of children named Hugo and weekend queue lengths at Avoca in Ballsbridge.
In his attempt to alter my perspective, Fionn warns me about the reaction of Father Fehily to my controversial sentiments. Unfazed, I simply express my readiness to explore new options represented by the different area codes, with a dash of intrigue about the general hype. Nevertheless, JP reminds me of our order’s founder, St Claude of Bethany, who in 1572, swam to Ireland from France, clutching a rugby ball. His legend, he implied, wouldn’t appreciate me switching faiths on a whim.
In a conversation, I found myself saying, “It’s not that I’m belittling St Claude of Bethany or his accomplishments. Yet, Father Fehily made it clear that there’s essentially no distinction between Catholics and Protestants; we’re all communicating to the same God, albeit through dissimilar channels.”
Fionn, somewhat thrown off, asks if I was equating shifting religions to switching mobile service providers.
My response was simple, “You’ve got it, that’s precisely what I mean! I’ve been with 087 for ages. It’s high time I try 086, considering the buzz that surrounds it.”
Amid the conversation, JP remarked that I wasn’t precisely pious.
To which I responded with a conviction, “I certainly am religious.” He insisted that I never attended Mass. But I countered asserting, “My belief lies in a God who has enough on his plate without my constant prayers. God surely doesn’t require my reverence all throughout. He certainly has weightier matters to handle.”
The conversation shifted when I was asked if I had always believed in a God who was exceptionally calm, self-assured, and a Protestant.
To this, I replied affirmatively, “That’s the impression I’ve always had of Him.”
However, Fionn was not convinced. He attempted again to highlight the point, “St Adomnán’s isn’t primarily a rugby institute, I should remind you. They haven’t been in a Leinster Schools Senior Cup final since the 1800s.”
To this, I turned it around by saying, “A similar case could have been made for Castlerock College when I enrolled. Maybe Brian, Johnny, and Leo will elevate the standards – as I did in my time?”
At this point, Fionn grew outraged, challenging me, “Joining a religion isn’t a casual affair, Ross – even in South Dublin. You’re willing to attend Sunday service?”
Leaning into the challenge, I responded, “If that’s what’s required to secure admission into St Adomnán’s, I am prepared for it.”
As the conversation continued, it became clear that I’d have to embrace Sunday morning worship. There was no afternoon service. Despite this, I remained undeterred and resolved to meet the requirements.
“Alright, I’ll stand,” Oisinn begrudgingly relents. “Fionn, relax a bit, mate. He just wants to secure quality schooling for his children.”
But Fionn retorts, “My faith is a sincere matter to me.”
However, JP counters, quoting from the Holy Scripture, “Our Lord proclaimed, ‘In my Father’s dwelling are many abodes; If it were not so, I would have intimated to you.’ That’s drawn verbatim from John 14:2.”
As an ex-seminarian, JP is well-versed in religious doctrine.
I chime in, “That church you attend frequently, Fionn, it does have a big placard outside declaring that every person is welcome, right?”
Vehemently upset, his face reddens with anger.
“Ross, you’ll fail,” he disparages, clearly agitated.
But this instantly brings back a memory from a quarter of a century ago – he had said something very similar when I managed to juggle two separate dates at Loreto Dalkey and Loreto on the Green debutante balls without either of the ladies being any wiser. He’d clearly be short-sighted to underestimate my ability now.
I boldly respond, “Watch this space, mate. Just watch.”