The Reality of Donald Trump

Sunday, April 24, 2011

Easter Sunday

I was quite young, maybe seven. We didn't have much. I woke on Easter morning looking for joy in it. I knew hiding Easter eggs happened in friends homes and I wanted the same. I looked around to see if anything was different. Not a thing. I wondered still. Mom didn't look too happy. She had been crying. Dad was still in bed. The grief was cause dad had been drinking the night before. He was cranky. He didn't want her bothering him. Addiction played a part in my life growing up. I've always been afraid, as if it's evil. Mom grasped for a way to improve my mood. I needed consoling. She showed me how to look at the Sun in the early morning horizon through the teeth of a comb with thin paper over it. The Sun was jumping. I could see it. She told me that only on Easter morning this happened since God wanted everyone to be happy and smile for him. It was his way of wishing us well as a family. Later, dad rose from his stupor. He smiled at me. The world was right again.    

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