Rolling Back The Stone

Easter is over, but the recap is just beginning. Overall, it was a pretty good weekend, filled with family activities and holiday fun. There were the usual childhood memories that came flooding back to enhance/ruin the day.

Do we start with good or bad? Oh, the suspense must be killing you. Lets start with what I think is good, but may end up being odd and pathetic. I was in the grocery store with "Daughter" the other day and saw that they were having a big sale on lamb cakes. These aren't meat based deserts, but a lovely cake baked in the shape of a lamb. I don't want to get to convoluted here by going into the religious symbolism of Christ as the lamb and us devouring him after a scrumptious Easter feast, so let's move on. When I was a kid, my mom used to make lamb cakes every Easter. She would kick it up by making the lamb with pound cake. The more butter the better. Cake isn't really cake unless it clogs every artery. She would then cover the cake in delicious butter cream frosting. I can feel a stroke coming on just thinking about it. I would always try to get to the ass end of the lamb first. That piece had the most frosting and a greater risk for morbid obesity. Man, I could eat the ass out of a lamb cake like nobody's business. Did I succumb to the sales pressure and buy a reduced price lamb cake you may ask. Hell no! Those cakes were made with yellow cake, not pound cake. I may be a gluttonous lamb cake ass eater, but I'm a picky gluttonous lamb cake ass eater.

While we're on the subject of Easter and food, I would be remiss if I didn't share my worst Easter memory. I was in sixth or seventh grade, and we were having dinner the night before Easter. My mom had prepared a big dinner with ham and all the trimmings. I have never liked ham. It's one of the few foods I detest. I can't stand it. You get the picture. I can't explain it. I dig all other pig based meats. Being headstrong from a young age, I refused to eat the ham. I don't get why this turned into such a big deal, but it did. My mom was crying, begging me to eat the ham. It's as if the sugary crust had healing powers or something. I refused. My mom, perhaps showing how unbalanced her life had become, sobbed like I had taken the ham and thrown it to the next door neighbor's hounds. My dad couldn't stand it anymore and told me that if I didn't eat the ham, I'd get no Easter basket. Dude, you can't play me. I know the Easter Bunny brings the basket. I called his bluff. No ham!

Fast forward to Easter morning. My four brothers and I waking up early and running to the living room to see our baskets. There they were, five baskets lined up neatly in front of the couch. The only problem was, only four were filled. You read it right! I had been denied an Easter basket because I wouldn't eat ham. Mom and Dad had conspired with the Easter Bunny to show me who really ruled the roost. You could have flown Dr. Spock in and had him sitting right in our living room and even he would have told you this was extreme parenting. My heart sank as I watched my brothers tear into their chocolate treasures. I tried to hold it together, but I think I allowed one single tear to escape down my cheek. Right! I cried like a sissy. Did I learn a lesson? Yeah, I learned that there was no punishment too cruel for my parents to meter out. Wait till I tell you the one about Halloween.

Poignant isn't it? I still don't eat ham, and I allow"Daughter" not to eat food she doesn't like without threat of punishment. I'm not saying I'm a better parent, I just pick my battles a little better. "Daughter" is on Spring break this week, so I'm sure I'll have plenty of battles to pick from. Later...Brian