Easter Means Hoodies

By Libbie Summers

I don’t remember a warm Easter Sunday. Missouri Easter mornings involved layers. A special dress, tights, wool coat, hat, gloves and shoes so painful they taught me patent leather was a cold conductor.
Easter Hoodies from Libbie Summers

After Easter Sunday church service and before Easter Sunday lunch service we hunted for colorful eggs. Dad and uncle Ronnie would hide eggs in places only a professional basketball player or a mole could find –a parent’s sick kind of amusement.

According to my mother, the wardrobe for finding the unfindable hard boiled eggs in a lower middle class suburb was “anything goes” on the bottom half and a smart hoodie on top. “Smart” being code for a dull colored hand-me-down hoodie that was cinched so tightly around the head it left a chin mark that stayed well into Passover.

I counted the hoodies I currently have in my closet. There are 9. Each time I wear one, I’m taken back to those Missouri Easters and the fun I had with my sisters and my best friend Bobby. Running around a yard that felt like a football field and trying to beat each other to the next hidden colored egg (one we would never eat) was a this child’s Spring nirvana.
Hoodie up.
Smile wide.
Basket heavy.

These days, I don’t tie the hood of my hoodie up and I still don’t wear patent leather shoes.

Happy Easter! May your memories be as colorful as your basket.

(pictured above outside our home in Missouri.  From l-r Robbie (oldest sister), me, my best friend and cousin Bobby, Debe (middle sister)

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