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  • How I miss childhood Easters. Those times before there was any meaning to Easter beyond chocolate bunnies, egg hunts and peeps. My early Easters were in the 1950s, a time of hats, gloves and purses and my very first pair of patent leather Mary Janes. They went perfectly with my pink and white polka dot dress, my matching pink coat, my white broad brim hat and my patent leather purse and white gloves. I felt so grown up. At that age I knew no such words as vanity or pride. It was all about the look. For a little girl who would be 6’ tall by the age of 11 and known for most of her adolescence as Tree Top, those “how adorable”, “what a cutie” years were the best.

    The Easter Bunny had even visited that morning. When I woke up I heard a bird singing and went to the window in my room to see where the bird was. When I opened the window I noticed what looked like a rabbit’s footprint. Yes, for sure that was a rabbit and of course it must have been the Easter Bunny. I shouted for my parents to come and look and they confirmed it was most certainly the one and only Easter Bunny. I noticed the bird was still singing when my mother pointed to my dresser. Sitting on top was a bird cage with the most beautiful bright yellow canary on a perch. The Easter Bunny must have thought I was a very good girl if he trusted me to take care of this sweet bird. I named him Chipso. Chipso continued to sing for me as we moved from Chicago to St. Paul, MN, to Louisville, KY; from Mary Janes to my first (low) high heels, from anklets to tights to nylons.

    The Easter Bunny proved to be an excellent judge of character who put much thought into giving just the right gift. He knew I needed someone to sing a song of love for me as a reminder through the dark years of conflict and self-doubt over whether I was a good girl or not. I’ll always be grateful that a little bird believed in me.

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