By Staff
Leada DeVaney, Editor
When I was growing up, my grandmother owned a bakery and a florist shop in Birmingham. This meant two things: our birthday cakes were always the ones people forgot to pick up and I got a corsage every Easter.
For years, I thought it was normal to have a birthday cake emblazoned with someone else's name. I also thought it was normal to wear a carnation complete with bunny ears and face every Easter Sunday.
When I was small, the bunny corsage was a big hit with my fellow Sunday School attendees. It was cute and different and I didn't mind walking around church with a rabbit's face pinned to my pink and white puffy dress.
But at some point, I belive around age 10, I decided I didn't want to wear a bunny corsage anymore. I wanted a big pink and white corsage with long ribbons, sort of my own Easter homecoming corsage.
My mother explained this wasn't a good idea.
"I don't think that would look nice," she said. "Besides, your grandmother makes you the bunny corsage and it is so cute."
That did it. I was 10 and I didn't want to be cute anymore. I went off.
"I don't like my dress either," I said. "I don't want to wear a dress with pink and blue butterflies on it and I don't like my butterfly necklace either. And white socks with frilly lace? Everyone else gets to wear pantyhose and I'm wearing socks. And a bunny."
My mother put an end to the conversation.
"You picked out the dress and the necklace and that's what you're wearing. Easter is not about what you're wearing anyway. God does not care if you wear pantyhose."
In my 10-year-old mind, I disagreed. God certainly would want me to wear pantyhose and would understand that as an almost pre-teen I could not be shackled to a bunny corsage.
In the end, I got my way, though only partially.
I wore the pink and blue butterfly dress and the butterfly necklace. I wore the bunny corsage, but that was the last year. My mother's compromise was my new, official pantyhose. Gone were the little lace, trimmed white socks.
I was happy.
This whole incident came to mind recently when mother and I were discussing up-coming Easter plans.
"Are you coming to Birmingham," she asked.
"Yes," I replied. "What should I wear to church?"
"A dress and pantyhose," she said.
"Pantyhose! I hate wearing hose. Can't I skip those?" I asked.
"No. God would not want you coming to church bare-legged."
Oh well. If I have to wear hose, maybe someone will make me a bunny corsage.