No More Easter Bunny

While looking for her socks on the morning of Maundy Thursday, my daughter asked if we were going to church on Sunday. I told her that we probably would, since it will be Easter. “We can’t go to church; we’ll miss the Easter Bunny,” she protested. I assured her that we could make it work.

As I tried to help get her shoes on, the conversation turned serious. “Mommy, do you and Daddy do the Easter basket each year?” Her question sounded more like she was confirming a suspicion than curiosity.

My daughter is eight years old so I knew this conversation was coming. I had even put some thought into how I would respond. I came up with some cool and meaningful responses, too. I did not consider the possibility that the question would come about while we were scrambling to get out the door, late for school again.  “Yes, Sweetheart, Mommy and Daddy do the Easter basket,” I responded. “So the Easter Bunny isn’t real?” she asked. “No he’s not. How did you get your shoes so knotted?”

“What about Santa Clause?”

“Not Real.”

“The Tooth Fairy?”

“Nope.”

“Jack Frost?”

“Well, we cannot make snow days so he could actually be real.”

“I don’t think he is.”

“Me neither. Get your jacket on, please.”

It was a far cry from the cool and meaningful moment I had pictured in my mind.

She wanted to tell her friends. This new information was just too big to keep secret. I asked her to at least wait until after Easter so those that still believe in the Easter Bunny could enjoy it.

“Why? He isn’t real.”

My one and only moment of cool and meaningful came when this came out of my mouth:

“Well, Sweetheart, there is a certain magic that comes with the wonder and joy that children feel about holidays. To take that away from a child before she is ready is cruel.”

… and to take it away from her parents, before they are ready, is equally cruel.

The truth is that we parents love that magic, too. I did, anyway. It was so much fun to see the joy and wonder that these stories brought to her each Christmas and Easter. I loved her excitement when the Tooth Fairy responded to her letters (always asking if she could keep her tooth) with a glittery note under her pillow. Making her life magical brought me joy as well.

I remember feeling let down when I learned the truth and holidays lost some of their specialness for me after that. The specialness returned when I had a daughter of my own and was able to renew the magic of Santa, and company. Now that I have rediscovered it, I do not want to lose it again. I want to keep that magic alive – for both of us- moving forward.

But how? How do we find joy and wonder in our holidays and milestones without the make-believe characters? Without the stories?

Perhaps, I can remember and share with her what really makes these occasions special. I can remind myself of and show her the miracles all around us. I can get to know and introduce her to the saints and heroes that walk among us every day. Life is full of wonder and joy; you just have to learn to see it.

She will still get her Easter Basket, although she will know that her parents put it together instead of a large rabbit. We will find new ways to celebrate Easter and the rest. Life will move on. I just hope that I can teach her (and remember, myself) to appreciate that holidays, along with every other day of the year, are more magical than any story or character made up by humans. I hope that I can teach her (and remember, myself) that wonder and joy do not end just because she is growing up.

It will be a challenge, but one well worth the effort.

Happy Easter!