The Grinch and The Bunny

It was brought to my attention last night that I am a Grinch because I hate holidays. My rebuttal was that I enjoy St. Patrick's Day and Halloween. Unfortunately I was overruled by Lesley, and thus labeled a Grinch.

I don't hate Easter. It's not like Christmas where I am counting the days till its over (Yes I hate Christmas, but we can discuss this another time). Easter just lost its meaning to me over the years. Where is it written: "When Christ was crucified, a big pink bunny popped out, and started hiding eggs across the land."

Even though I don't care for holidays, I never take that away from other people who do. A great example of this is the day my disinterest for holidays began.

It all started on April 2, 1988 (just in case you want to rent a time machine to go back and change my dislike for holidays). I was dying Easter eggs with my sister in a hotel room in Palm Springs. We didn't spend Easter at home a lot. Easter Sunday is always in the spring, which some how translates to great golfing weather to my dad.

I remember being concerned that the Easter Bunny wouldn't be able to find us in out hotel room. My mother assured me that the Easter Bunny knew where we were because she had written him a letter informing him of our hotel room. Of course I believed her because I was almost seven, and thought my mother would never lie to me. But I was a little concerned about the Easter Bunny getting lost on his way to Palm Springs (my mother is not the best with directions and this per-dated cell phone navigation).

I had just finished dying my masterpiece, a rainbow stripped egg, when I turned to my sister and asked, "You don't think the Easter Bunny would get lost, do you?"

My sister, being three years older then me, rolled her eyes and let out a huff. "You don't still believe in all of that, do you?"

I didn't understand the question. What did she mean by "all that?"

"The Easter Bunny isn't real," she explained.

This was absurd. How could she believe such nonsense? 

"Then how do you explain the Easter baskets we get every year," I asked with a smug tone.

"Its mom and dad," she replied. "They put them there after we fall asleep."

Even though I couldn't believe it, I had nothing to win this argument.I had never actually seen the Easter Bunny, thus had no proof of his existence.

She could tell I was having a hard time wrapping my six year old mind around this. So she responded with, "Topher, how can a bunny visit every single child in one night?"

I had only one defense to that statement. "Santa does it," I replied meekly. .

And that's when the bomb was dropped. One by one all the make believe characters in my life were outed. Santa Claus wasn't eating those cookies I left him. The Tooth Fairy was not leaving me money under my pillow. I would never be best friends with Alvin and the Chipmunks. They were all fake.

I went to bed that night, determined to catch the Easter Bunny leaving me a basket. Before he left I would have him explain to my sister that she had been confused or misinformed. But at 2am, through half shut eyes, I watched a basket of candy being placed beside my bed, not by a big pink bunny, but my mom. That's when I knew my sister was telling the truth.

When we all awoke the next morning, I wanted to confront my parents for deceiving me all these years. I stormed into there room with my basket, ready to expose them for the liars they were. But before I could utter a word, my mother exclaimed with a bright excited face, "Is that from the Easter Bunny? What did he bring you?"

That's when it hit me. It wasn't just me who was excited every holiday. My mother was just as excited as I was. She may have been lying to me about who gave me these presents, but she did it to witness the happiness it brought to my face. And here I was, the youngest child in my family, and after I told her I knew her secret, she would never get to experience these moments again.

So I did what any child who loved their parents would do. I crawled into my mother's lap and we went through my Easter basket like nothing had changed. I pretended that I still believed in the Easter Bunny and watched my mother smile at me while I rummaged through my basket. For 7 years I kept on pretending, not for me, but for my mother. Because sometimes, its worth lying to the ones you love.