Easter should be the most important holiday for Christians. It’s the fulfilling of the promise that Christmas brings and there are Cadbury Eggs to be enjoyed by all faiths. But as the secular has overshadowed the sacred and as air travel has become exponentially more expensive, Easter is relegated to second place. Also, Pandito and I have never pulled an Easter prank.
I have been in lots of places for Easter in my life. I’ve been in Germany, singing in the choir loft of a cathedral. I’ve had family Easter in the Grand Canyon. I’ve had Easter on tour, in a place you’d assume could be found by neither God nor man. Easter is my Green Eggs and Ham.
But no matter where I am for Easter, I think of my dad. All my life, he and my brother have had a million sports-related activities together. But my dad always made a point to hang out with just me. We had our own stuff. (We were so late going to see the Little Mermaid together that when it came out on video, I thought they added the seashell scene with the sisters at the beginning to make the movie more special.)
Every Easter we were in North Carolina, my dad and I got up to go to the sunrise service at our church. We would leave my mom and Pandito, the non-morning people, at home; heading out at the crack of dawn wearing a suit and a sweet new Easter dress, respectively. We were usually late, but still a welcome part of the small congregation that met on the lawn of our church as we waited for the sun to rise.
I felt especially close to God on those early mornings in the dewy grass, hanging out with my dad.