Rabbits Lay Eggs?

When I stood to say the pledge of allegiance as a kid, I always glanced over at the two Jehovah's Witnesses in my class, just to make sure they didn't happen to put their hands over their hearts and join us.

I liked both of them. They knew all the answers during difficult math lessons and never got in trouble. During free time, one of them always joined me in piecing together a puzzle of kittens in a basket of yarn. We had done it so many times the picture was beginning to curl up from the cardboard. I never would have suspected that these two innocent, dimpled 8-year-olds would be the rock through my stained glass window. All the magic of my childhood was shattered by one five-word sentence.

"Your mom is Santa Clause," she told me matter-of-factly while smashing a piece of a kitten's paw into a piece of another kitten's head.

Of course, she told me this right after I divulged the Christmas list I sent to Santa the day before. I looked at her and waited for the punchline. And then the unraveling began. I felt the hurt rise from my chest to my cheeks. This was the beginning of the Great Emotional Breakdown of 1998.

Luckily, I was a somewhat logical child. I understood that the imagination was a gift, and I knew believing fostered hope. When I sat down with my mom that night I asked about all of them: the rabbit with the eggs, the fairy that stole teeth and, of course, the fat man with the sack of gifts. When I told her it was the J-dubs that revealed her schemes, she knew there was no backpedaling.  

I wasn't mad at her for lying to me my entire life. I was mad that my world's stock of magic was officially depleted. Life was a grey globe of habit. Mystery and enchantment were things people used to escape the grey. Everything was as it seemed. And yes, I was a deep-thinking third grader. 

Since Mom had the talk with me, she has had to have the talk four more times. I was asked to fib to my youngest sister so that she kept believing. When she finally realized it was all a lie, she was hurt. She felt stupid and betrayed, which made all of us wonder what was more valuable, revealing the truth or encouraging believing. My youngest brother was much like I was. The disappointment was overwhelming. How miserable it is to discover that every Easter and Christmas from now on are nothing more than a few trips to the grocery store and local mall.

What if your three-year-old asks the same questions I had as a third grader? Do you lie then? At what point does the playful tradition of holiday characters become dishonest?

It is especially hilarious to consider the upcoming holiday: Easter. So a massive bunny has a never-ending supply of hard-boiled and plastic eggs to hide all over the Earth? Why would a rabbit prefer to hide eggs as opposed to crunchy vegetables?

How amazing that as children we have so much faith in the world that we buy into this far-fetched Easter story without even beginning to reconsider its validity. In honor of this childish faith that I once had, Dalton and I will hide eggs this year. Not because I have children or intend to invite any over, but because the child in me deserves another go at it. Fueling my imagination may be the healthiest thing I can do for myself at this point.