I was sorry to hear that after a 32-year run, the Easter Bunny won’t be hiding any plastic eggs filled with tooth-rotting candy this weekend at Riverfront Park.
Apparently there was a lack of a sponsor or a problem with the Easter Bunny’s agent.
This isn’t the only Easter eggstravaganza going on around town, of course.
But also I think we will be missing a huge opportunity if we don’t use this civic letdown to give all the disappointed kiddies the same words of comfort that my dad gave me whenever things didn’t work out.
“Douglas,” he’d say in a firm, fatherly tone …
“Sometimes life isn’t fair!”
Ah, the “life ain’t fair” gambit.
Members of my generation heard that one even more than “go brush your teeth” or “stop that or you’ll go blind.” Parents of today simply don’t have the inner, um, crabbiness that it takes to give their offspring such a dose of hard realism.
There’s a reason for that.
See, our parents survived on canned beans during the Great Depression.
They fought Hitler during World War II and they learned to drive in cars that were roughly the same dimensions as one of Gen. Patton’s tanks.
They couldn’t even watch Lucy without first having to bang the TV with a shoe.
Nothing came easy, or so they told us.
Today’s parents won’t eat anything that’s not organic.
They glide around in jellybean-size autos that run on AA batteries and pixie dust.
The closest these sissies ever come to fighting is when they argue with the youth soccer coach about whether little Cadbury or Anesthesia is getting enough playing time.
Not that anybody’s keeping score.
Then their kids hit adulthood only to discover what a cold, cruel world it is.
Plus, as it turns out, grandma was right. Multiple facial tattoos and tongue piercings don’t go over well in a job interview.
Where’s the Easter Bunny now, suckers?
Those battle-hardened parents of my era knew what they were talking about.
Life doesn’t always hand everybody a basketful of marshmallow chicks and chocolate bunnies.
The signs of inequity are all over the news:
IRS: Easter basket.
Dionne Warwick: No Easter basket.
Spokane City Council: Easter baskets.
Voters: No Easter baskets.
Justin Bieber: Diamond-encrusted Easter basket.
Justin Bieber’s neighbors: No Easter basket.
As long as we’re hopping down this rabbit hole, another question comes to mind.
Am I the only one who thinks that the Easter Bunny is the absolute dregs of our holiday symbols?
At the top is Santa, of course.
He’s a jolly fat man who runs a North Pole sweatshop where an army of mini-me laborers crank out enough toys for Santa to deliver to the world’s children every year on Christmas Eve.
I totally get that.
Dittos on the Great Pumpkin at Halloween as well as the St. Paddy’s Day leprechauns.
But the Easter Bunny?
How do you even begin to explain something this bad-acid-trip weird to a child?
KID – Does the Easter Bunny lay the eggs he brings me?
DAD – Well, no. Rabbits don’t actually, um, lay eggs.
KID – So where does the Easter Bunny get them?
DAD – Go ask grandma.
It’s time we retired this stupid rabbit and voted on a new and more believable symbol for Easter.
And so let me start things off by recommending that Internet piano-playing sensation, Keyboard Cat.
Not only is Keyboard Cat cuter than the Easter Bunny, but KC is the trademarked creation of Spokane’s own Charlie Schmidt.
Not to mention that my own son, Ben, is Keyboard Cat’s manager for licensing deals and television commercials.
I know. This might sound like I have a personal stake in replacing the Easter Bunny with Keyboard Cat.
But you all know what my Old Man would say about that.
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