Serving the High Plains
Serving the High Plains
I've got to say I've always been a little creeped out by the Easter Bunny.
Santa Claus might be a little scary to little kids but at least his looks make a little bit of sense. A six-foot rabbit makes no sense at all and freaks out more youngsters than not.
I remember one Saturday shortly before Easter several years back when a coworker's little boy arrived at the office with an Easter basket full of eggs and tear-stained cheeks. He obviously wasn't having a good day.
"What happened, a big kid push Trevor down in the rush for Easter Eggs or did mom make him stop eating candy?"
"Nope, the Easter Bunny waved at him on the way over here," his father answered.
He just couldn't figure out that big plush costume with a person inside who doesn't talk. I don't blame him one bit. It makes my blood boil every time I see a flyer in a store window advertising photos with the Easter Bunny. Pressing your child into the arms of that creepy bunny with one snaggle tooth is wrong. I'm not just saying that because I don't have a photo of myself as a child posed with Peter Cottontail.
Speaking of "Peter Cottontail" I have nothing whatsoever against the song sung by Gene Autry. In fact, that might be the most redeeming part of the secular and commercial Easter celebration.
Even Gene's song points up the fact that the Easter Bunny is more than a little biased toward the female side of the household. Easter baskets? Just what every guy wants is a decorated basket. Then there's colorful (probably pastel) eggs for Sister Sue and an orchid for mom and an Easter bonnet, too. It seemed to me like the chocolate bunnies hidden everywhere are the only bright spot for Tommy. Mom probably made him share with Sue though.
That movie "Harvey" that was rerun every Easter on TV when I was growing up probably didn't help either. Every kid wants to believe that six-foot, invisible rabbits hang out in bars with a drunk Jimmy Stewart. The great James Stewart as a lush or maybe a crazy man still doesn't play too well with me either.
I can handle clowns and even mimes but large plush bunny rabbits will haunt me in my dreams this Easter. I'll probably even make my wife get up first and start the coffee just in case the rascal is still in the living room hiding eggs.
Karl Terry writes for Clovis Media Inc. Contact him at: