Discoveries

The following is inspired by an excerpt from my memoir. The events and conversations are recorded according to my recollections. 

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“I know the truth about the Easter Bunny,” Burgess told me one bright blue-skied afternoon following my nap. I was four years old, he’d just turned five. We were in the playroom where big double windows overlooked still-bare trees dotting the hillside behind our apartment in Asheville’s Manor Grounds, dividing our little plastic animals for a round of Little House into his family and mine. Dust motes danced in the streams of late afternoon sunlight streaming through the windows like microscopic snow in a freshly shaken snow globe. I loved to sit where the sunshine warmed my back as we played.

Thinking I was about to hear where the Easter Bunny lived, or how he got into our apartment to deliver baskets of goodies every year, I was curious. “What is it?” I asked, selecting one of my favorite zebras – the “girl,” because she had pink lips.

“He’s not real. And neither is Santa or the Tooth Fairy. It’s just Mom and Dad. They bring everything! They’re the ones who get the stuff and leave it out for us! They’re the ones who leave the money under our pillows!” he announced, looking satisfied with himself.

I didn’t want to know this revelation. I cried.

While I’d been napping, Burgess asked our mother, point blank, for The Truth just before Easter. He wanted to know about the Easter Bunny, and the whole lot of them. Because of the earnestness of his inquiry, she conceded that she and my dad were the ones who left the trinkets and gifts, and traded the money for teeth. He then gleefully relayed this discovery to me.

I recall my mother consoling me – having heard my cries – by saying these special visitors continue to leave gifts for the kids who believe. I told her I wanted to keep believing, whether Burgess did or not.

I had a purple Easter bucket that year, and to my relief, still got something from the Easter Bunny. Burgess did, too. I recall a wooden airplane the size of a ruler, a kite, and a jar of fancy mustard nestled in the shiny plastic green grass.

Burgess’s investigation helped to make sense of our attempts to reconcile the discrepancies between what we received during these special occasions and what our friend Sydney would collect. While we got things like jars of gourmet mustard and a small salami or crock of port wine cheese spread and whole grain crackers alongside a handful of carob nuggets, come Easter morning she’d awaken to over-sized candy bars, giant chocolate bunnies, and enormous bright lollypops. My mother was an avid fan of health food pioneer Adelle Davis, so candy was off limits, even for special occasions. My parents were often low on funds, too. Our take from the Tooth Fairy might be a handful of coins – nickels, dimes, and an occasional quarter – while Sydney received dollar bills of ones and fives. Once I thought I’d hit the jackpot when I discovered a special dime under my pillow – one that was partially coated in something red. I later discovered it to be candle wax, most likely from sitting too close to the candles on the table the previous evening as they burned low into the wee hours, liquid wax overflowing holders. At the time, my mother said it was a magical dime, “touched by the fairies.” I believed it, and saved it for ages.

Elly Haddad1 Comment