Easter

     I miss the Easter Bunny.  He quit coming to my parent's house when I was about seven (Mom said it was because he was afraid of the kitties).  We did have two stuffed plush rabbits  named Pinkie and Greenie, who kindly provided my brothers and I with jelly beans and chocolate rabbits over the years. They would come down from the attic for a few days each April and sit on one of the living room radiators, but then off they'd go for another year while the Lykken boys would tear up their Easter Baskets.  I hope one of my bros rescued Pinkie and Greenie from the old house, so they could continue their somewhat lonely but certainly useful lives.
     Growing up, we'd sometimes be dragged off to church on Easter Sunday.  Dad never went.  Mom seemed to believe that we boys needed to be exposed to organized religion, even though she was an atheist herself.  Her mom (Gladys Betts) was a pillar of the Lake Harriet Methodist Church on 50th St. in Minneapolis.  Not sure if it is still there, as the Methodists seem to be currently out of favor, but it was quite nice back in the early '60s.  There were a couple of years there when Mom dragged us to church mostly every Sunday.  The Rev. Dennis Nyberg did the sermons.  We always took Grandma along.  I didn't hate church, but I hated going as it meant I missed the Bowery Boys on TV.  We'd never talk about the sermons.  Mom would send us down the aisle to take communion, which she never did herself.  Eventually we just stopped going.
     In 1967 the Vietnam war was raging and Mom decided that her sons wouldn't be going for soldiers, so she started taking us to the Universalist Church on 50th and Humboldt to establish our basis for becoming conscientious objectors. Not sure what my brother did, or really if they even attended.  I was sent to the Sunday School, along with Junior High buddies Steve Flynn and Fred Bezat.  I had no idea what the Universalists were all about, or what they believed.  In Sunday School we talked politics, and were all left wing pinkos.  We spent 1968-69 in England, and when we returned to Minneapolis, our religious education was over.  The war was still on, but I guess we were on our own.  Mom was very active in protesting against it, but we never again talked about what we would do if drafted.  I had decided to zip off to Canada as I had a British Commonwealth citizenship, which left me with a great deal of mobility re. moving, getting a work permit etc.
     Go figure.  I was born in London, England, and my atheist parents actually had me christened, and at Westminster Abbey of all places.  There was a great deal of pressure in those days to at least pretend you were Christian.  My folks would tell me to recite the Pledge of Allegiance with the other kids, but to only mouth the words "under god".  That was kind of tricky as I was usually class president each year, and would have to LEAD the class in the pledge, standing up in front of the class.  Still, I managed it.  I don't think I have EVER said the words "under god" out loud in my entire life.
     That isn't entirely true.  In 10th grade our English class went to a professional play in St Paul someplace.  There was some delay in the play starting and the kids were getting restless, so I got up on the stage and told the audience (several school's worth) that we all needed to stand up and say the Pledge.  Everybody stood up (we are a nation of sheep) but there was no flag, so I turned and faced the red light of the EXIT sign.  So did the audience. I led them all in the Pledge, even the under god part, and then told everybody to be seated.  I took my seat as well. I didn't even get into trouble, as my teachers were beginning to realize what a sociopath they had on their hands.  They also figured that getting me in trouble for being so patriotic during that era of social strife would be somewhat problematic.
    Veneta and I never sent our kids to church, nor do we discuss religion in the house.  I can remember when Zeke was a baby and I was all in a panic one evening, crying about what if he died, and there was an afterlife, and wouldn't he be all alone?  Veneta's dad had just died, and MY father said to me that "Zeke's grandpa Shepherd would take care of him".  I actually think my dad believed that, and I certainly believed him, and I felt less paniced.  I have no idea what happens after death, but we do have energy in our body, and energy cannot be destroyed.  I also believe in Karma, so I guess I am in fact a Buddhist of some sort.  The one thing I can say about Buddhists (and Quakers) is that if everybody was a Buddhist, we wouldn't be bombing Libya.
     So, I won't be having any jelly beans today, which I guess is just as well considering the diabetes and everything.  I miss my parents, and Veneta's parents, and Pinkie and Greenie.  I also miss the Easter Bunny, but he shouldn't come to our house, or Misti and Izzy would chew his head off.  That probably would be pretty bad Karma for all concerned.