The Last Straw Frank McNallyNo greater responsibility ever befalls a journalist than the need to restore a child's damaged faith. Luckily, we have a guiding example in Francis P. Church's famous editorial "Yes, Virginia, There is a Santa Claus", published in 1897 by the New York Sun.
Church was responding to a question from Virginia O'Hanlon (8), who years later would recall that she wrote to the newspaper after receiving "evasive" answers from her father. The latter had a habit of settling arguments with the line: "If you see it in the Sun, it's so." And when Virginia suggested asking the paper, he encouraged her, confident that "the Sun will give you the right answer, as it always does".
Some of the eight-year-old's "little friends", as she wrote, had denied Santa's existence. So, treating the issue as a priority assignment, Church began his reply thus: "Virginia, your little friends are wrong. They have been affected by the scepticism of a sceptical age. They do not believe except what they see. They think that nothing can be which is not comprehensible by their little minds. All minds, Virginia, whether they be men's or children's, are little. In this great universe of ours, man is a mere insect, an ant, in his intellect, as compared with the boundless world about him, as measured by the intelligence capable of grasping the whole of truth and knowledge.
"Yes, Virginia, there is a Santa Claus. He exists as certainly as love and generosity and devotion exist, and you know that they abound and give to your life its highest beauty and joy. Alas! how dreary would be the world if there were no Santa Claus! It would be as dreary as if there were no Virginias. There would be no childlike faith then, no poetry, no romance to make tolerable this existence.The external light with which childhood fills the world would be extinguished."
So when I opened a letter this week from Orla McGinnity (12), Church's example immediately sprang to mind, and I reacted accordingly. I pushed the Budget and the peace process to one side, asked the switch to hold all my calls (they said there were no calls, but if it humoured me, they'd hold them anyway). And then I read on.
It emerged that Orla is a big fan of Bratz, the new-generation dolls that have given Barbie a mid-life crisis. But Orla's feelings were upset by an article in The Irish Times Magazine recently, written by, er, me.
In summary, she was particularly disappointed by my suggestion that the Bratz dolls' enormous eyes were the obvious result of "drug-taking", and that only collagen injections could explain why their lips were thicker than Barbies' ankles.
Declaring herself "slightly taken aback" by these claims, Orla argued that the dolls' features were just innocent attempts to prevent them looking like "yet another imitation of Barbie". She was willing to make allowances for me: "I understand that although you are very good at journalism, you may not have the same knowledge of girls' toys" (my editors might argue it's the other way around, near enough). But her mother, in a covering note, recommends "a little grovelling to herself to ensure a loyal reader".
So, although I'm no Francis P. Church, here goes: Yes, Orla, there is an innocent explanation for the facial features on Bratz, and I feel like a mere insect for suggesting otherwise. I have been affected by the scepticism of a sceptical age. I believed only what I could see which, considering my standard-size eyes, was not much. I had forgotten there were things that were not comprehensible to my little mind. All minds, Orla, are little: with the possible exception of Bratz's minds. How else do you explain those outsized heads? But there I am, rationalising again, with my ant-like intellect. The obvious explanation for the dolls' optical features, I now know, is that they reflect the wide-eyed wonder of children who see them. I can't think of a similarly philosophical explanation for the lips, just now, but I'm sure there is one. How dreary life would be if there were not. It would be as dreary as if there were no Orlas. The external light with which children fill the world would be extinguished. And not even the internal light with which they fill the real-effect fireplace in special edition Bratz Winter Wonderland Ski Lodge would be any compensation.
I hope you accept my apology, Orla. Because especially in this sceptical age, there are few things more important - and this is as true now as it was in 1897 - than the preservation of the public's child-like faith in newspapers. I know you'll agree with me on this: your mother says you're considering a career in journalism.