|I'm not Peter Cotton Tail but let me hop down your happy trail|
Who is the Easter Bunny? Does anyone know, does anyone care? When I was a kid my mother used to collect little bunny statues. My sister and I used to play act with the figurines making each represent an Easter Bunny from the far reaches of the globe. There was Peter Rabbit from Russia, Pierre Rabbit from France, Pedro Rabbit from Mexico.
It all ended one day when Hans from Germany, an action figure in the form of my brother’s GI Joe, informed us he was making each of the rabbits into hossenfeffer. Rest in peace poor bunnies.
Of course there was Easter morning. The Easter baskets always had little chicks in them. Then we would have one chocolate bunny because we were allergic to chocolate as kids. Eating a little, my mother would freeze them. Of course this didn’t phase my grandmother who would pop chocolate in our mouths when my mother wasn’t looking. Sure it resulted us breaking out in little hives but it was worth it. And for a fat child like myself it was heaven beyond heaven.
My mother on the other hand would be mad as hell. This would be a post-Easter fight with my dad about how our grandmother knew not to give us chocolate but did anyway. Maybe she had to deal with our hives, but our grandmother understood we were growing children. We needed our chocolate.
We once asked my dad who the Easter Bunny was. My dad told us it was Santa’s cousin. He explained that the Easter Bunny was his cousin like Bobby and Kelsey were our cousins. While Santa lived at the North Pole, the Easter Bunny lived at the South Pole. According to my dad, the penguins were the Easter Bunny’s helpers. Sure, he was making it up as he went along. But we were putting the guy on the spot. It wasn’t bad.
Around Easter my dad usually sang for us. It was a treat being that he had a great voice. When my dad was younger he went to Catholic grade school. During his time there he was a soloist in the choir. The nuns often pulled him out of class to sing mass in Latin. So my dad would give us the hymn in Latin, singing is a beautiful bass baritone voice. Apparently his choir made a record. Sure my dad wanted financial security. But he had a great voice. Then as little kids we would ask, “Does the Easter Bunny understand Latin?” And so then my dad would switch to Bing Crosby. He was better than a car radio sometimes.
As a kid the Easter presents were simple, candy. In junior high they switched to makeup. Of course in high school and even now it is money. Actually, this year the Easter Bunny sent me bra and panties and socks. Somehow the Easter Bunny always knows what I need. I think it is because the Easter Bunny’s my mom. Don’t tell my baby cousins, they still believe.
And if you tell my baby cousin’s I will cut you.
My friend Marcus and I were discussing the identity of the Easter Bunny. We both agreed, it’s Jesus’s pet rabbit. Maybe that is the story I will sell my baby cousins. Jesus had a pet rabbit and named it Buster Bunny. His grandfather was Bugs, pet rabbit to Moses. He can be seen running about in the Ten Commandments, that’s what he did before Hollywood discovered him.
I don’t know. It’s disrespectful. But then again, if Jesus didn’t have a rich dad he would be just another zombie.