easter

It’s Easter today. And feelings of confliction and nostalgia for pastel Peeps and rabbits fill my thoughts. Conflicted. Because I came from my Buddhist parents, groomed by my Catholic Hispanic babysitter, and educated with the teachings of my Sunday school teacher. No doubt, my childhood has left me at a lost with religion and slightly confused with the meaning of the Easter holiday.

What remains is a deep love for Peeps and rabbits. Peeps. Because I was missing most of my teeth and they just melted in my mouth without much effort, delivering that instant shot of sugar. Rabbits. Because my parents thought Easter meant getting your children actual rabbits for the holiday. My brother and I received three new bunnies every year until my sister came along. When she was old enough to hold one on her own, she broke out in hives all over her face after snuggling with Chester.

Conflicted. Because the first time I went to get my picture taken with the Easter Bunny, I peed in my pants. Yes. I was terrified of strangers, let alone a stranger with a huge furry mask on. But I wanted to make my mom happy, so she could have a picture of her daughter with the Easter Bunny like the other mothers. As I felt the wet warmness seep through my pants and onto the Easter Bunny’s leg, I felt sorry for him. And with that I flashed an uncomfortable smile for the camera, thanked the Easter Bunny, and prayed that the next child wouldn’t feel the wet spot I left on his leg.