Easter was never a celebration for us. For my sister and I, it only meant chocolate bunnies and painted eggs. As we never really ate the chocolate we received, even that tradition eventually faded. In school, you’d get the occasional egg hunt and for the first few weeks in April you’d be asked to decorate the classroom with drawings of yellow chicks and colorful eggs. I only ever knew it was Easter because the Dollar Store would start selling straw baskets and ceramic rabbit figurines. On Easter Sunday, I would sit with my mum and watch the Nativity movie on TV. They juggled between a few different ones; same story, different Jesus. I had a favorite Jesus actor and every year we’d gamble on which Jesus we’d be watching. As I got older, I took up work as a waitress. I forgot about Easter and the blue-eyed Jesus. Hospitality work hardly had days off and you eventually forgot they even existed.

The whole country practically shuts down and families huddle together in front of important quantities of food.

In Poland, Easter is an important day. The whole country practically shuts down and families huddle together in front of important quantities of food. I was in a hostel in Gdansk a few years ago. It happened to be Easter weekend and I woke up to a table loaded with sausages and cold cuts, deviled eggs and chocolate eggs, fresh bread, cream cheese and sliced cheese as well as bright red tomatoes covered in chives. Fresh coffee was brewed and the hostel staff and guests sat together, attacking the buffet and enjoying the sunny spring morning. I think if he were looking down, Jesus would prefer this concept as opposed to all of us just eating chocolate eggs - I stole that last thought.

She told me the story of a 7-year-old Patrick whom, one Easter, happened across a squashed rabbit on the road. He started bawling.

When I was 17, I dated a boy named Patrick. I sat with his mum and him on Easter Sunday, breaking the ears off my hollow chocolate bunny and nibbling at them. She told me the story of a 7-year-old Patrick whom, one Easter, happened across a squashed rabbit on the road. He started bawling. She asked him what was the matter - not considering the fact that a road kill is quite the gruesome sight - and he replied, between sniffles, that the Easter bunny would not be bringing him any chocolate eggs anymore. Cute story.

And now? I’m munching down on the ears of my chocolate bunny. Nothing changes.

             

The Writer

I write stuff for fun, if it was for a living I would be homeless.

Find out more about me, Stefanie, here.

Quotes

Bizarre travel plans are dancing lessons from God. Kurt Vonnegut