Still Looking
When I was a kid I always felt bad for Easter - it was like supposed to be this huge holiday, but it never quite lived up to Christmas, did it?
I used to wonder why Santa Claus was able to deliver all those presents while the bunny could only carry chocolate, and in my mind's eye, seeing that rabbit hopping down the bunny trail seemed sort of ridiculous, right?
And what was the deal with the eggs? Being raised Catholic I couldn't figure out how Jesus rising from the dead could be captured by a chocolate-toting, egg-coloring bunny that was hippity-hopping - whatever the hell that meant. And where the hell was the bunny trail? And why'd the bastard hide the baskets? Couldn't he just set them down on the table and hop his ass back out the door?
Which brings me to the crux of the matter. My basket was always well-hidden, and my mother carried the tradition on way too long. Coming home from college for Easter dinner I was told: "You need to find your basket."
I never quite felt as stupid as I did during those mornings as I moved around the house looking behind the couch, in the washing machine, under the tables...
To make matters worse, I lived with a bunch of real jackasses in those days. Brothers who would start looking, not to find their own baskets, but to find mine, so they could re-hide it.
"Find your basket?" my mother would ask four hours later.
"I'm still looking," I'd say from my spot on the couch.
Eventually Mom would feel bad for me and together we'd go to the spot where she left the basket - and it wouldn't be there, and then Mom would laugh along with her co-conspirators who would rather be water boarded than tell me where they put it.
I once found melted chocolate all over the outside of the basket four days after Easter: they had hid it in the attic.
Yet now that I'm older those Easter memories come back to me, and I put them into some sort of context with my religious beliefs. Of course, I'm still looking, but I have kids who've officially passed the age of believing that there's an egg-carrying rabbit.
"There's no Easter bunny, right?" Sam asked.
"No, there's no tooth fairy either," Kathy answered. She stopped short of letting all the cats out of the bag.
I felt like telling him: "The NBA dream is dead too; and the Bills and Sabres will never win; and most people you meet aren't as cool as you think they might be; and you'll struggle for money, love and peace, and most days you'll be so confused, you'll wish you were just looking for a basket of chocolate instead of banging your head against the wall trying to get ahead."
But I didn't tell him. He needs to search it all out for himself, and unfortunately, most days, I don't come across the basket filled with treats, either, but I'll continue the search.
I used to wonder why Santa Claus was able to deliver all those presents while the bunny could only carry chocolate, and in my mind's eye, seeing that rabbit hopping down the bunny trail seemed sort of ridiculous, right?
And what was the deal with the eggs? Being raised Catholic I couldn't figure out how Jesus rising from the dead could be captured by a chocolate-toting, egg-coloring bunny that was hippity-hopping - whatever the hell that meant. And where the hell was the bunny trail? And why'd the bastard hide the baskets? Couldn't he just set them down on the table and hop his ass back out the door?
Which brings me to the crux of the matter. My basket was always well-hidden, and my mother carried the tradition on way too long. Coming home from college for Easter dinner I was told: "You need to find your basket."
I never quite felt as stupid as I did during those mornings as I moved around the house looking behind the couch, in the washing machine, under the tables...
To make matters worse, I lived with a bunch of real jackasses in those days. Brothers who would start looking, not to find their own baskets, but to find mine, so they could re-hide it.
"Find your basket?" my mother would ask four hours later.
"I'm still looking," I'd say from my spot on the couch.
Eventually Mom would feel bad for me and together we'd go to the spot where she left the basket - and it wouldn't be there, and then Mom would laugh along with her co-conspirators who would rather be water boarded than tell me where they put it.
I once found melted chocolate all over the outside of the basket four days after Easter: they had hid it in the attic.
Yet now that I'm older those Easter memories come back to me, and I put them into some sort of context with my religious beliefs. Of course, I'm still looking, but I have kids who've officially passed the age of believing that there's an egg-carrying rabbit.
"There's no Easter bunny, right?" Sam asked.
"No, there's no tooth fairy either," Kathy answered. She stopped short of letting all the cats out of the bag.
I felt like telling him: "The NBA dream is dead too; and the Bills and Sabres will never win; and most people you meet aren't as cool as you think they might be; and you'll struggle for money, love and peace, and most days you'll be so confused, you'll wish you were just looking for a basket of chocolate instead of banging your head against the wall trying to get ahead."
But I didn't tell him. He needs to search it all out for himself, and unfortunately, most days, I don't come across the basket filled with treats, either, but I'll continue the search.
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