Growing up, my holidays were always a lesson in duality. My father was very religious, and so we did the church parts. But we also did the secular parts too, and never did the two intertwine. We did midnight church for Christmas, but Santa and his presents were a separate thing. Santa never teamed up with Jesus or stopped by the manger conspicuously.

Of course, Mary and Joseph didn’t bother to make sure there was a chimney either, so I’m not sure history knows who to blame on that one.

The same thing goes for Easter. We were taken to church and mingled afterwards with people who tussled our hair and remarked how we were growing, which I assumed was normal. But our Easter baskets? The choc-o-lates that were delicately ┬ánestled into the stringy grass? That was the work of a bunny, one which was either tall or short, with big ears. He was probably white, like all of our other mythological entities, regardless of where they’re from. And he offered everything while asking for nothing. Even Santa required tribute in the form of cookies and milk. The Easter Bunny? He was just in it for the sheer joy of a job well done.

Or possibly he hated children and was sowing the seeds of diabetes.