Wednesday, March 28, 2018

I have written a memoir of my childhood Easter in Revere MA when I was 3 years old approximately.







The Easter Bunny is a Jack-a-lope
As I lay in bed feverish and about to fall asleep I saw him from behind as he jumped over the backyard fence, his white cotton tail reflecting moonlight. Is this where the term ‘mooning’ came from? He was small, brown with big bunny ears tilted back for speed. He carried no Easter baskets for other children. He must have brought mine and two for my older brothers. I suppose he was headed back to his stash to cover the rest of the neighborhood. Like Santa Claus he had a lot of ground to cover before dawn.
 I did not check to see if my Easter basket was delivered outside my bedroom door because I had one foot in dreamland and being sick with chicken pox I had no appetite for candy anyway.
We lived in Revere in a two-family house across from a fire station. There was an upright piano that came with the apartment which my mom painted chartreuse, her favorite color. I was told there was no room for a horse in the back yard despite my continual pleading. We lived in this house a block from a private beach within walking distance to my grandparent’s house and the small Catholic church we attended. It was a comfortable community with a fair amount of Jews which established my preference for Bulkie Rolls which were called Kaiser Rolls in other places.
Point of Pines did not have a lot of pine trees. They must have cut them all down to build houses. On the other side of the Lynnway lived Nanny and Papa in a small cape that looked just like all the other houses in what some called the “Cardboard Village” because it was quickly built to accommodate all the GI’s coming home form WWII which my grandparents somehow qualified for due to Papa’s stint in the Navy long before the war. I heard they paid something like $3K for the house, that wouldn’t even make a down payment today. They loved living only a block from the water and made friends with all their neighbors and took in stray cats, making sure all the pets that got killed crossing the Lynnway had a proper burial in their yard.
It was April 1950 and chicken pox was in bloom and I was quarantined in my bedroom by the doctor who made house calls.
My mom was pregnant with my sister Valerie. Mom was enjoying having a little girl after two boys and bought me a special coat outfit for Easter. It must have been a chilly April because it was made of sea green wool with matching leggings and bonnet. It was not what you would typically think of for Easter but being only three, I was thrilled to have a special outfit which was probably picked up by Nana who worked at Filene’s in Boston. My new outfit hung on a hanger from the curtain rod over the window which had the shade pulled all day to prevent the light from hurting my eyes which I guess could get pox on them judging by all the time I spent in a darkened room lonely and bored with no one to play with. Maybe that’s why the Saturday night before Easter, I lifted the shade and saw a bunny hopping over the back fence and out of sight.
Sickness was a time when my Mom was an extra good mom. She knew I was sad to be missing the family activities and unable to even try on a scratchy wool outfit. The solid fudge egg from Fanny Farmer’s decorated with pastel flowers and leaves sat in its box. A white porcelain diaper pail was positioned next to my bed in case I got sicker.
Forty Aprils later, I was a mother myself with three sons all taking turns with Chicken pox. First the 8 year-old gets a mild case, number two son gets a much worse case followed by the baby who got it the worst, but at least he felt like one of the gang and we all got through it somehow over the five long weeks. I documented it all taking pix of them in their Underoos holding little slate that said Chicken Pox 1989.
No Easter baskets have ever been delivered to our kids much as I miss the solid fudge egg and the fuzzy little chicks that decorated my basket. Even though I saw Mr. Easter Bunny with my own eyes I realize now it was probably a dream.
Today I realize this cultural concoction is more of a Jack-o-lope; a patching together of Pagan and Christian religions. Have you ever seen a Jack-o-lope driving through western states where they have them stuffed for display in gas stations and depicted on post cards? They’re a cross between a Jack rabbit and an antelope with antlers.
 Since the Chicken Pox Vaccine became a routine since 1995 fewer kids get them. Now we have other things to worry about. Are the vaccines causing autism, ADHD or the many other diseases and disorders that are on the rise? Should we be more discriminating about what Mr Jack-a-lope delivers? Maybe we should just say ‘no’ to Mr. Jack-o-lope and all the sugar he brings setting kids up for obesity, diabetes and tooth decay.
(I am working on chapter 2 of this topic for our Marriage and Family in the End Times Book)
Chris Noonan Funnell April 11, 2014