My father dutifully filled baskets and hid them when we were little...one was always in the milk chute (a first time buyer asked me what that hole in the wall with a door was the other day..) one behind the chair and my sister's always in the bath tub. My Dad would have been 87 on Easter Sunday,...I was with him every day for the last 3 months of his life...most of it spent in intensive care trying to battle the devasting effects of a staff infection and guilliam barre syndrome. I miss him every day....but holidays are especially difficult.
He was a distinguished looking man....quiet...people sometimes mistakenly took him for a local newscaster or a former Wisonsin Governor...he didn't correct them, he just smiled politely and we all enjoyed the mistake, It was amazing how much better the service got in a restaurant when the staff thought you were in the company of the "semi-famous".
Dad used to say that no child of his was going to be dumb enough to believe that this super sized rabbit somehow broke into the house and delivered chocolate eggs,,..,.My mother however, came from the "IF you don't believe, You don't receive" school.....so sugar hounds that we were, we "believed" long after other kids had abandoned the tradition under the guise that my younger sister and then younger brother still believed so we HAD to have a basket.
We wish you all a very sweet holiday....as sweet as the memory I have of my Dad dutifully hiding the baskets.




