It is Easter Time. I know, because just the other day I saw a group of Easter Bunnies marching backwards. Yes. It was a receding hare line. (When you can only use a bad joke once a year, you really are obligated to use it.)

As a kid, this week meant two things: lots of church and lots of chocolate. We went to church every Wednesday night all through Lent...like a marathon runner in training for the big stretch still to come. Then, we'd attend on Maundy Thursday, Good Friday and Easter Sunday. Down the street from the Lutheran church I attended, the Catholic kids also went to church on Holy Saturday. A friend of mine and I tried to shoot baskets in the Catholic church parking lot one of those Saturdays...just to taunt our church-going friends...but were shooed away.

When I was very little, I wondered why they called the Thursday of Easter week, "Monday Thursday." Couldn't they make up their minds? Was it a play on the Mamas and Papas hit "Monday Monday?" Or was that really "Maundy Monday?" Of course, I eventually learned it was Maundy not Monday...and that the word Maundy is from the same Latin root as the word mandate. Also, the word maunde, refers to the ceremonial washing of others' feet. We never did that part in my home church. Somehow, seeing your neighbor's corns and bunions would not have added to the worship experience. It would have been appalling. Appalled Bunions. Also, if we boys in my confirmation class had removed our sneakers at the same time, all the candles on the altar would have melted. Not to mention trying to wash the feet of someone who is very ticklish. Frankly, had I been the washer and not the washee, the temptation to do the "this little piggy..." deal would've been overwhelming.

I have always found the Good Friday service particularly moving, especially as a kid. We'd go to the 1:00 p.m. service which made it special and different already. The sanctuary was silent and dark. We'd sing Were You There? and Beneath the Cross of Jesus. Pastor Fruehling would give a marvelous sermon. Frankly, I've never heard him give a bad sermon. His messages always resonate with truth and hope. But, his Good Friday meditations were almost haunting in their quiet power. There was a very real and appropriate sadness in these services. For years, it seemed to me that the sky would actually darken a bit as we left the church.

Easter Sunday meant lilies and new outfits and, yes, I'm old enough to remember all the colorful, flowered bonnets being worn to church. And those were just on my brothers. Being Lutherans...German/Scandanavian Lutherans, at that...we never really cut loose on the hymns. (I've often thought that if we had a few more religious songs that you could polka to, we'd have been better.) But, we'd come as close as we could on Jesus Christ Is Risen Today. We were a house divided on what service to attend on Easter Sunday. I'd vote for the sunrise service just for the fun of being up and going so early...and it got me closer to the chocolate part of the holiday that much sooner. Others in the house wanted the 10:45 a.m. service. We'd usually compromise and go at 8:00 a.m. I knew someone who went to church every Sunday except Easter and Christmas, because, according to him, "That's when the amateurs show up."

After church came the chocolate. Often my mom would've given up chocolate for Lent so it was an even bigger deal for her. The biggest treat in the basket was always a Russell Stover Chocolate Rabbit. Kansas City being the home of Russell Stover was a big selling point in moving here in the first place. I was told, during my interview at Channel 9, that all area residents got free chocolate every week. I'm still waiting. Still, even as a child, I found it odd that the Easter Bunny would condone the consuming of his own likeness. Especially when E.B. has to know that the first thing to go will be the ears. Also, where's this guy getting the eggs? Are chickens all over the country waking up to empty nests? If there was a Lifetime Movie Channel for barnyard animals, this would be a great storyline. "My Eggs. My Self starring Melissa Gilbert and Tracy Gold...Special Appearance by Corbin Bernsen as Farmer McGregor." Yes, I know I am combining different stories but we have to fill two hours of air-time. Also, in addition to the eggs, where's he getting the sweet treats...maybe he's a shop-lifter, too!? And, why does he insist on wearing a vest and bow-tie but no pants? I'm telling you, this rabbit has a cotton-tale to tell. Just between us, The Easter Bunny scared me a little. He seemed kind of arrogant...stuck on himself...eggo-centric, really.

By the way, nowadays, you can have your child's picture taken with the Easter Bunny. That's kind of a new thing to me. When I was little, Mr. Bunny was much more reclusive. You never saw or heard a thing. He only spoke publicly once, as I recall, when hoaxster Clifford Irving claimed to have written an authorized biography of him and he had to speak over the phone in order to discount Mr. Irving. I think that was the Easter Bunny. Maybe not. Most of the time he brought the chocolate stuff I mentioned above but one year, for some reason, he hid a Get Smart edition of Skittle Bowl under the bed, too. It featured Don Adams, as Maxwell Smart, on the box. I never did figure out what I had done to deserve such long-eared largess. How did he know I loved that show? How does Maxwell Smart and Skittle Bowl fit into the Easter message? Maybe we spend the 40 days of Lent saying "Sorry about that, Chief." Followed by a major "would you believe?" moment on Easter morning. As for the game itself, I'm sure there is something there about keeping one's aim straight and true. Now you see why I was never asked to help Pastor Fruehling write his sermons.

Returning to the rabbit: It is going to be very chilly for him this coming weekend. Record-setting cold. Of course, that beats a few years ago when it was extremely warm for the guy as he made his rounds...toting all that stuff from house to house..covered in fur. I happened to run into him as he finished up and he was angry, miserable and roasting. That was one hot, cross Bun-ny. In his honor, I started and ended this story by laying an egg.