Amy and I traveled to Nashville for Easter weekend. Dallas had to work, so we decided to see what the holiday was like for Lacey, Nick, and Madden. I hope it’s as special to them as it was to us as kids and then as parents.
When I was little, Mother made sure we had Easter outfits. During the younger years, she dressed Jim and me in matching outfits. Bow ties and cuff links were parts of the ensemble. To top it off, Mother bought hats for us. Now, Jim and I had big heads as children. In fact, they probably were the same size that they are some fifty-plus years later. Mother thought we looked snazzy, but today, people would say we looked more like miniature pimps.
In those times, we got Easter shoes. In truth, we got shoes twice a year. They were orthopedic shoes that resembled the ones that Frankenstein wore in the early movies. We’d make the trip to Bill’s Comfort Shoes on North Central in Happy Holler. The things were ugly and unmercifully heavy. After years of wearing them, one would think that Jim and I would have muscular legs. To the contrary, we have what are called “chicken leg” that could be sued for nonsupport.
As we got older, our clothes were often hand-me-downs from older brother Dal or other boys. Most years we had sport coats for Easter. Our bellies grew and dress slacks were husky sized, a euphemism for “fat boy pants.” We graduated from bow ties to clip-ons or string ties. The shoes were still from Bill’s Comfort; they never got better looking, and new style still looked too much like clod-hoppers.
Saturday evenings before Easter were set aside for coloring eggs. Mother boiled several dozen mixed dye tablets in cups of vinegar. We gathered around the kitchen table and began. Some of the eggs were multi-colored. Others were the color of bruises. Names of every family member were written on shells with paraffin crayons. We made eggs for parents and grandparents alike. When we finished, the eggs were placed on racks to dry and we hustled off to baths and bed. All of us had dye-stained fingers for a week, but we were in good company with the kids in our classrooms at school.
On Sunday morning, we boys awoke and made a bee line to the kitchen. The Easter Bunny visited and left baskets that were filled with boiled eggs, marshmallow and chocolate bunnies, and M&M’s. As long as Mother was alive, those baskets were present on Easter morning. She added baskets as the grandchildren came. Her yard was the best place around for egg hunts. Our children hunted in the same places that we’d looked for eggs, and they begged for just one more hunt, just as we had done so many years before. At least on egg was never located—until months later. Then we’d crack it open and hold our noses and gag as the foul smell of a rotten egg filled the air.
Church was a central part of our Easters. Daddy was off on that day, and the five of us piled into the car to attend both Sunday school and church. We heard the crucifixion and resurrection stories, and our young minds tired to wrap themselves around what had happened. We sang “The Old Rugged Cross” and other old hymns that celebrated the risen Christ. As children, we enjoyed the time but looked forward to getting home for more pictures, outside play, and then meals.
Easter dinners were every bit as festive as Christmas. Turkey and ham graced the table. Potato salad sometimes replaced Christmas mashed potatoes. Mother held back some of our colored eggs to make a huge plate of deviled-eggs. We all ate until our sides ached. As children, we were ready for more rounds of hunting eggs. As adults, we preferred naps.
Being with Lacey and her family was a wonderful experience. However, I missed Dallas on that special day. I also missed Daddy, Mother, and Dal, but because of the events that make Easter so special, I know that some day I’ll see them again.
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