Originally published April 15, 2006
Revenge of the Pink Bunny
My father worked at an oil shale facility. It was owned by Unocal, who hosted an annual egg hunt for the children of employees. The first one I remember was held at a wayside park on the Colorado River in Debeque Canyon. The egg hunt was moved to Cottonwood Park, just a few blocks from our apartment complex. It was also on the Colorado River, and had both a roller slide and tire swing. I loved to be spun until I was dizzy on the tire swing.
When I grew too old to join the egg hunt, my father “volunteered” my services to help hide eggs for younger kids to find.
Before we moved to Colorado, my family often spent Easter at my aunt’s house in Lansing, Ill. There were always a lot of cousins there, and we’d have fun riding around the block with them. Easter baskets in those years were filled with treats from Fannie May. I over-indulged one year and made myself sick.
My family planned a visit to the Milwaukee Zoo on our return trip to the UP. They had to rent a chair for me, still feeling a bit weak from my Easter binge.
I brought the Easter baskets out of storage this week and boiled eggs for my son and I to color. I love hard-boiled eggs, and am not sure why I don’t make them more often. I guess it’s not as much fun if you’re not going to dye them. Each year, my son and I vie for the coveted “ugly egg” title. We each get one egg and the object is to dye it the ugliest color possible. They stick out like sore thumbs among the rest of the vibrant eggs we color.
This year’s contest was a stand-off. His egg was left in the dye bath for so long it is practically black and my egg is a vile green-brown.
My favorite Easter memory was the year my family spent the holiday at my grandparents’ farmhouse. My sister beat me out of bed and down the stairs to check our Easter baskets. My basket was full of candy and a yellow stuffed bunny toy. My sister had a pink bunny in her basket
I knew, I JUST knew that the pink bunny was supposed to have been mine.
Pink was my favorite color. I had a pink bike and when my mom had a friend of hers make dolls for my sister and me, hers wore yellow and mine wore pink.
The gleam of fiendish delight in my sister’s eyes and her smug smile as she held the pink bunny convinced me that I was right.
I wasn’t going to take this affront lying down. When mom and dad came down the stairs, I pleaded my case.
They confirmed that the pink bunny had been placed in my basket, not hers, and I claimed my prize from my sister’s clutches.
My family has a picture taken of us that morning, in matching pale blue nightgowns with a dark blue trim. My sister was about five and I would have been about 7. We’re holding our Easter goodies. It’s been a few years since I’ve come across the picture, and I can’t remember if it was taken before or after the bunny verdict came in. All I know is that one of us is grinning and holding up the pink bunny in triumph while the other one looked on, pouting.
I still have that pink bunny. It’s tucked away with a few other childhood stuffed animals that I can’t bear to part with.
Have a safe, happy and healthy Easter.
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