I’ve been on the planet for almost six decades and as many thoughts as one can have in that span of time, one has occurred to me for the first time. Why the Easter Bunny? Why not an Easter Badger or Easter Beaver? I’m sure you’ve already asked this question. I admit, I am slow about some things.
It seems that E.B., as he’s called by his fellow professionals like Santa and the Tooth Fairy, came to the job in the 1500’s under the name Easter Hare. He was so dubbed by German Lutherans. He was the judge of whether children were good or bad at the start of the Easter season. Then, E.B. would deliver gifts on Easter eve based on the child’s behavior. Say…wait a minute…that sounds awfully familiar.
I realize that a rabbit, or bunny as we call him now, is cuter and less threatening than a bear. But it seems the bear is better suited to carrying all those treats. Besides, bears come out of hibernation about Easter each year. That’s symbolic of the reason we Christians celebrate the season. Hibernation is as close to being dead as you can get without having actually crossed the great divide. A bear coming out of his cave in spring is certainly great symbolism.
The Easter Bear might also be more effective in getting kids to behave. What’s a rabbit going to do if you’re not good…leave you only the black jellybeans? But the Easter Bear might maul you in your sleep. That would certainly motivate me to stop shooting spit wads in class.
Of course, the groundhog wasn’t available for the job. He’d already gotten into meteorology. It’s a steady gig that only requires him to work for a few seconds one day a year. Just wake up, look for your shadow, collect a check and head back to bed. Nice work if you can get it.
The Easter Opossum wouldn’t work either. Talk about frightening. Besides they’d spend all their time rooting through your trash. Likely they wouldn’t use sanitizer afterwards and who wants a chocolate opossum in their basket anyway? Especially one that’s been handled by someone who has scavenged through your trash.
I kind of like the idea of the Easter Beaver. Another good symbol of rebirth is the sight of the Easter Beaver emerging from his dam after a long winter’s nap. Once he has left his treats of chocolate shavings and little chocolate logs with the ends chewed to a point, he could thump that big tail of his on the front porch to alert the residents that Easter has arrived. Better than sleigh bells in my book.
While pondering this quandary over why the Easter Bunny and not, say the Easter Bigfoot, I came across something interesting about the origin of Easter eggs.
Obviously, eggs are a great symbol of rebirth as well. They’ve been used as such since the 1st century A.D. They became part of the Easter celebration in medieval Europe. They were part of the Lenten fast, and, therefore, not eaten until Easter arrived. But here’s the interesting part. Children in England during this time would go door-to-door begging for eggs on the Saturday before Lent started. The eggs were handed out as special treats just prior to the fast. Springtime trick-or-treating! I’m not sure, but I’m guessing some of those eggs were returned to their owners on October 31st if they didn’t hand out decent candy. Thus, the start of egging houses at Halloween. Not that I would have direct knowledge, but guys talk…you hear things.
Speaking of my being slow on the uptake, the idea of Easter egg hunts was never foreign to me. We had them often during my growing up. But I’d never heard of the concept of the prize egg until our children came along. We always just tried to find the most eggs. I’m not sure we were all that good at it either, as more than once Dad discovered a forgotten egg with the lawn mower. Too bad we didn’t have GPS tracking in those days.
While moving from there to here, I was rummaging through some boxes recently. Tucked inside a zip-lock baggie—my mom’s signature method of storage besides old margarine containers—was a photo. A long-forgotten photo. It is of my father, my brother Michael, my foster brothers at the time, and me. I’m standing in front of Michael. His hands are on my shoulders likely to keep me from digging into the Easter basket on the ground beside me. Unseen is my mother who wanted a picture of her boys in their Easter best on Easter Sunday 1966.
After all these years, I finally found the prize egg.
Thanks, Mom.
