this is a repeat of a much loved memory I want to resurrect today...
My first Easter memories involve my sister (2 years younger) and I when we were quite small. There was the anticipation of buying a fancy, new Easter dress, with new crisp white cotton gloves. And, equally important, fancy, new shoes to match.
I still remember a favorite pair of pink patent leather shoes with bows that I'd rub together, even during church, just to hear them squeak. If we'd fuss and whine a little extra, we might get a new handbag or hat with matching grosgrain ribbon that would hang down our back. And, who knows? I might even paint my stubby, chewed-to-the-nub fingernails for the occasion.
Sunday School during Easter was spent making crosses from pop-sicle sticks and yarn. And writing John 3:16 in glue on construction paper, then sprinkling glitter on it, to proudly display in the Church's main hall. And after church, the obligatory eggs-tra-ordinary egg hunt. A perfect Easter indeed. With all the trimmings a little girl could possibly want except...
But I never did get a blue (or pink, or orange, or green) chick for Easter.
A local grocery store sold colored baby chicks in a pen with heat lamps during the Easter season. They had been dyed different colors and we'd all have our favorite one picked out. All the kids begged their parents for a blue (or pink, or orange, or green) chick at Easter. But I never knew anyone who actually got one. Animal rights activists may take a dim view of dyed chicks nowadays.
I recently ran across one of those old Easter photos while cleaning out my grandmother's things. Probably one of the last ones that featured us in parent-bought Easter finery. Robin and I were posed for posterity in my grandmother's yard and were about 14 and 16 years old at the time. Smirks firmly planted across our smart-aleck faces tell you this is the last time you'll get dresses on these two tomboy teens who'd rather be in our blue jeans fielding grounders.