My mother continues to be surprised by the way my memory works. I don’t know why it works the way it does or how well it does on things from over 20 years ago but fails me on why I walked into a room. I don’t know why, but it’s never failed me when talking about the good ol’ days. I can recall almost any kind of life changing moment in my life, I read an article once that admitted there was no proof, but was more of a theory that we remember things good and bad from our life because they were something that gave us a sense of self.
That seems to be what is happening in my life. Most of what I remember either added to my sense of self, where I came from, and who it made me be the person I am today. Being able to recall and analyze has helped me notice things that have come full circle in my life, what I learned from certain people that have come and gone or even returned, and has helped me draw upon emotions for when I’m writing fiction and need to write something emotional. That’s how it’s worked for me, granted for a very long time I didn’t realize I was subconsciously doing this. I just thought I was remembering like everyone else or doing whatever other writer does when writing a character’s personality, flaws, and so on.
One of the memories my mother was surprised I could remember was something, one of the only things I can remember before 3rd grade and that is of an Easter memory. When I was younger and honestly most of my life my family was upper poverty lower middle-class level. When I think of earlier memories one always stands out, mainly because I can remember it so well.
I was a little girl, full-blown believing in the Easter Bunny, Tooth Fairy, and Santa Claus innocent still when one Easter magic convenience me the big man Easter Bunny was real. I remember my father being upset believing my sibling hadn’t taken the trash out only leaving it on the trunk of the vehicle instead. He was yelling at him about responsibility until for no reason at all he just stopped and began calling my mother. I woke up to my father’s yelling, but his silence hadn’t stirred enough in me to want to see what was going on. My mother yelled at me to not look out the window or out of my bedroom, that’s when the curiosity bubbled.
They then called me into the kitchen and there sat a garbage bag that had been torn open. Inside sat the biggest white fluffy bunny I had even seen. Along with him sat candies that could only be bought directly from the company, I learned that later and since they’ve hit the market for public purchasing since I’ve been an adult. My parents said it was left for me. I loved that big-eared bunny for years until my parents had to get rid of it. Poor thing had been loved to death, right until it fell apart and was mere strings and stitches. At the time they explained it to me I had to have been a very good girl to get such a gift from the Easter Bunny. When my suspicions grew that my parents had got it for me, my mother explained they didn’t have any money that year for any candies or basket, so it wasn’t from them.
I was convinced for years that the real Easter Bunny had given it to me. It was an unshakable belief of mine until I got older and began learning the hard truths of life. My mother, after she knew for a long time that I had known the truth, finally admitted she thought it had come from a church or from a teacher at the school. I knew back then the school I went to had started a secret program to help unprivileged children. They had selected me at one point. It helped me feel good and I didn’t know it was for poor kids. I never felt poor, they never made me feel poor, but I remember they had pulled me from it. My mother had gotten a call after the following happened.
They had given me a little present wrapped in a plastic bag. They instructed me not to tell the other children, but while on the bus I opened it down in my backpack, hoping no one would see. A girl asked where I’d gotten it and when I refused to tell her she began to get mad saying she’d seen the teacher give it to me and how unfair it was that I was being given anything at all. Like I said before, the program was a secret from the children not enrolled, so no one felt bad. It was to give to those that just didn’t have much.
All the bag had in it was a couple pieces of candy, small toy, and a little card that told me I had improved, to keep up the good work. It was one of the earliest times a teacher really encouraged me in school. I needed it more than I probably realized.
I had been given Christmas gifts through this program; it was associated with a church in the area.
After the little girl discovered the bag she went home, informed her parents, it all ended for me. I understand everything now and that they had selected me. I can understand how the girl must’ve felt. Probably thought it was favoritism not understand it was stuff like food and little toys because I was poor.
This program still happens. It happens under different names and it really is still just to give a little helping hand out to kids that may not be getting. Churches do this a lot, especially here in the south. I’m sure there are other programs across the country that are dedicated to helping kids around the holidays. I praise them. They’re doing something very kind for children that may have nothing to eat or get anything for holidays.
I cannot remember the program’s name, don’t think they ever told me. I also cannot remember the teacher’s name. I wish I could thank her.
In conclusion, the Easter Bunny is real. He may not be a big fluffy bunny, but he is real in the form of teachers, churches, and volunteers.