Wednesday, April 12, 2017

The Easter Grinch

I don't like Easter.

(I'm not talking about the religious aspect.  It's the most holy day of the year and I understand and appreciate that.  I'm talking about the commercialized Easter that we celebrate every year.)

I don't like it.

I don't like dyeing eggs -- it's so messy and the kids practically slam the eggs into those little plastic cups, cracking the eggs 90% of the time. 

I don't like the community egg hunts where children turn into wild little beasts, shoving other children out of the way to get the most plastic eggs.  I have a child who, inevitably, ends up with just one or two eggs because all someone has to do is give her the stink eye and she'll hand over anything she's collected.  One year, some little turd even took all the eggs out of one of my kid's baskets.  Yes!  Let's celebrate the resurrection by allowing our children to indulge in straight up assholery. 

I don't like doing baskets anymore.  They get expensive with so many kids and all except one are too old to even believe in the Easter Bunny. 

Oh, and no way will my kids go visit the Easter Bunny.  They're all creepy looking and one time, when I worked at the Temple Mall in Temple, Texas, the guy who was working with the Easter Bunny told me as I was walking by, "he really wants you to come sit on his lap."  Gross.  No.  One time I had a momentary lapse of judgement - I blame it on new parentitis, must have pictures of everything -- and took J for a picture with the Easter Bunny.  I need to apologize to him for that one.

Sorry J.

And, finally, I REALLY don't like going to church on Easter Sunday.  I realize that's an absolutely horrible thing to say and when Mark and I discussed this he said, "but Easter is the only day of the whole year they sing that "Up From the Grave He Arose" song!"  I know, I know.  But it's just SO crowded and so often becomes a fashion parade.  And, let's be honest, when I was a kid it meant scratchy dresses and the stupid bonnets with the elastic strap that boys would pop. 

I loved Easter when I was a kid.  We all went to my Granny and Grandad's house.  Lunch was a potluck.  There were always a ton of kids and so.many.eggs.  We knew the typical hiding places to look for the eggs but, inevitably, my Grandad would run over one while mowing the lawn the following summer.  After collecting eggs, we'd settle on the front porch and count and compare and eat hardboiled eggs.  I don't remember nary a plastic egg in that day.

1984-ish?  I'm the little one on the end

1989?  1990?  1991?  Whenever it was cool to rock acid washed jeans.

Things are different now that I have kids of my own and even more different considering I'm divorced and have to share holidays.  I do have the kids for Easter this year but it's their dad's weekend so they won't come home to me until late Saturday.  It makes no sense to travel to visit my family for a one day visit.  So we'll smoke a ham and fry a turkey.  I'll make potato salad and maybe a strawberry pie.  We'll invite friends over and the kids will hunt eggs.  I get that they're creating their own kind of memories and I know they'll have fun.  But it still makes me sad that they'll never know an Easter at Granny's house with eggs "hidden" on tailgates of trucks and so many cousins and the store bought fried chicken that always made it's way to the dinner table.  And maybe that's why I'm a bit of an Easter Grinch . . .

That and dyeing eggs.  I hate dyeing eggs.

No comments:

Post a Comment