Rollerskates for Easter
As previously explained, I grew up observing the commercial version of Easter. Instead of being crammed into fancy dress and hauled to church, kicking my patent black shoes like all the other little girls I played with, Easter morning at my house was a jellybean hunt (racing my brother AND the family poodle to find the most candy).
In addition to little baskets of candy and chocolate bunnies, my brother and I each received some sort of inedible treat each year–books, dinky cars, brooches and caps. Best memory? The year I got a pair of roller skates that clamped onto my shoes like little wheeled vises. All morning, I skidded up and down the street, clattering over the salt and sand that clogged the pavement after a particularly snowy winter, drinking fistfuls of warm, linty jellybeans from my jacket pocket. Anyone who ever owned a pair of those skates knows, more time was spent seated on the curb wrestling with the flag-shaped key that tightened the skates. Fun they were; well-designed they were not.
This year promises to be another best memory as my sister-in-law and I chauffeur the current family favourite–my nephew–to visit his grandparents and great-grandparents. Right now, he’s almost seven months old, roughly eight months younger than his dad was when caught on film above. And, you can be sure that next year I’ll be teaching him everything I taught his dad about candy-eating contests, back in 1977.