Bunny Tales

The first Easter I remember was in first grade. We were transient, in a way, as Mother and we three girls followed Daddy from one oilfield to another in Texas. The five of us lived in a duplex made of three rooms lined up with a door between each one. I cannot remember where we all slept, or anything else about the rooms. But that Easter Sunday morning, Mother got us up and told us to look behind the door. There were two paper mache bunnies, standing on their hind legs, with a basket on their backs. The baskets held green “grass” and dyed eggs. I Googled “Paper Mache Bunnies” and found the exact one we received!

When I was seven, I think, Mother made us yellow satin dresses for Easter. They had ruffles around the hems, tiny buttons at the neck, and a big bow in the back. We drove 200 miles to our Grandparent’s house for Easter Sunday. While there, Mother got sick, and she hadn’t sewn the buttons on the dresses. So, Daddy took over and sewed on the buttons, dressed us, and tied our sashes in big pretty bows in the back, just in time for church.

In fourth grade, we had an Easter egg hunt on the school playground the last hour of the day. All of us brought our Easter baskets, and we sat in our wooden desks and listened to the instructions for the Easter egg hunt. The teacher said most of the eggs were alike, a few were chocolate wrapped in colored foil, and one special egg was wrapped in gold foil. The lucky person who found it also won a prize. So, off we go with our baskets. I spot the golden egg the same time a boy did. We raced for the egg. Just as he reached down for it, I kicked it away, then ran after it and picked it up. He became very angry and bawled like a baby.

My prize? Another Easter basket, filled with all kind of neat stuff.

Then came the special time when our own children hunted for Easter eggs. Our daughter was six and our son was three-and-a-half. Like any good mommy, I made sure they had pretty baskets with pink and green grass. I stayed up half the night to color and decorate eggs. As I dressed them for Sunday School, my husband went to the back yard and hid all the eggs. At the signal, the children rushed outside. Our daughter skipped around, finding every egg her daddy had hidden. Our son followed his sister, and when she picked up an egg, he squatted to look in the same place. All around the yard, she filled her basket, and he had none. He began to cry. His sister ran around, re-hid some of the eggs, and “helped” him find them. She was a good sister then, and she still is today.  

Celia Yeary

Romance…and a little bit o' Texas

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