We’re leaving town tomorrow to spend Easter with my parents in Virginia. I’ll be back at work on Tuesday, but I prefer to think about the long holiday weekend ahead.
Easter is my favorite holiday, although the energy I devote to it wanes each year. David and I used to hunt Easter Eggs (the plastic kind, of course) hidden by his parents in their back yard when we were dating. (Actually one year, we hunted Hershey “hugs” in lieu of eggs, and that year David’s dad hid an even amount, so we tied.) David’s dad was always impressed that we held on to our youthful spirits, but I think my grip is loosening now. I haven’t colored eggs in years, and although I light up at the idea of making Easter Baskets, I never do. (I just look at Martha Stewart’s.)
In high school, my gruff History teacher insisted that Easter is the most important Christian Holiday—that the birth we celebrate at Christmas wouldn’t have been significant but for the rebirth we celebrate at Easter. His comment really struck me at the time. I had never thought about it, and I was (and still am) inclined to agree with him.
For some reason (har har) Christmas gets more emphasis. I’m sure the disproportionate attention has nothing to do with the commercial aspect of the Christmas Season. To be fair though, I love Christmas too. It is nice to have such a splendid occasion stuck in the middle of shivery winter. (I also like how Christmas coincides with Winter Solstice—The light of Christ coming into the world at the darkest time, when days begin to get longer. Did I mention that I’m coo-coo for symbolism?) Easter isn’t quite as commercial as its winter cousin. Although, I did receive my first Cabbage Patch Kid—Ace Blake, a boy with brown curly hair—on Easter. (He looked something like this.) Maybe Ace boosted Easter’s signal on my subliminal radar.