What I Want For Easter Is My Two Front Teeth...

Or do I have my holidays confused? (*WINK*)

Rather than do an in-depth analysis of the pagan sources of Easter (my other peers on the blogosphere have already done so), or castigating the Christian religion (there'll be plenty of time for my usual rants 'n raves the rest of the year), I'll take a walk down memory lane, and share with you all what few memories I have of this distinctly Catholic holiday.

Truth is, I was raised loose Irish Catholic by my mother, and we went down a rather uneventful path towards 'belief'.

My mother was excommunicated from the Holy See, due to the fact she married a divorced Protestant. As to whether or not he divorced a Jewish woman had any bearing on the subject, I am unclear.

And honestly (from what I can remember: I still regret my days of dissolution, as I'm sure those impacted my memory), I rather liked going to church. The large vaunted hallways, the ritual, hearing Latin hymnals, all that rot. We all did the baptism (as infants), Catechism and the Holy Communion - you name it. My only memory of the Confessional was one of "Forgive me, daddy-o, I been a bad boy", and a recitation of some of the most mind-numbing 'sin's'; "I swore at my sister, I hit her, I killed a frog" (Hey, I was a little kid! Gimmee a break!), that sorta thing. At the time, these weighed heavily, but now? I feel sorry for the priest, having to get a whiff of the metaphorical dirty laundry. Now, public confessionals are the in thing (one has only to tune into Jerry Springer or Maury Povich, to see whereof I speak: I wonder if these people act out to act on), but back then we wrestled with our 'demons' in private.

Ma tried to teach us about Lent, but that was a lost cause from the get-go. All three of us volunteered to give up items we disliked, but apparently the concept got lost in the translation. I think I valiantly tried to give up chocolate (don't quote me on that), but that lasted for about a few days.

The concept of the resurrection was pretty much lost on us also. Having no clear idea of death, we had little concept of the mythological 'rebirth'. We prayed at the dinner table occasionally (my dad had a good one: Somebody would insist we say 'Grace', he'd holler 'Grace!' and dig in), but there really wasn't much talk about Jesus, no long lofty dissertations about faith vs. acts, no theological disputes. God was this nebulous other, who didn't seem to be anything more than an abstract we paid lip service to. Cafe Christianity with the papal trappings, in other words.

I went off to Camp St. Francis when I was around 8 or 9. Again, nothing spectacular. No, none of the priests touched me inappropriately, or anything else like that. I suspect that my folks sent me off to get some rest: as I've mentioned before, I was an exhausting little boy to have around. I do distinctly recall this weird game they had us play. It was sort of the Catholic version of poor-man's paintball: we organized into teams (Dolphins vs. Sharks, I was on the side of Flipper), took a bunch of Dixie cups, filled them halfway with sand, twisted them closed, and the teams chucked them at each other. You had to aim for the torso: no head shots. Like the TV show, we beat the sharks. I don't know if the resemblance to stoning was accidental.

But Easter was a warm, fuzzy-wuzzy holiday. Sure, we attended the sporadic Mass, took communion, all that, but we dyed Easter eggs (kinda fun), and went about the Hunt (sans weaponry, of course), and overall, it was just for the kids.

So, I'm not big on the 'War Against Easter', or any other of those 'wars': you don't like? Don't celebrate.

Now, have a few giggles on me:

Does anyone remember Super Chicken?

The Easter Bunny hates you!

Another GOP accident:

And now for the piece de la resistance - Kill Bunny!