Susan Writes

“Gran, is it my turn to do the bunny cake face?” eight-year-old Micah asked. 

My first thought was that I’m happy my young Grand wants to continue the tradition of decorating an Easter cake. My oldest Grand, Samuel, now almost 18, first stood on a stool to reach the kitchen counter to decorate a bunny cake.

             The cake recipe and a picture come from my mom’s recipe collection, and a hand-written note read, “Easter – ‘78.”  My Grands’ mother was a toddler then so a bunny cake has been a long-time family tradition.

Imagine an 8” round cake layer as the bunny’s face and another cake layer cut to make the ears and a bow tie.  The picture shows jelly beans for the eyes and nose, threads of red licorice for whiskers and the mouth, gumdrops on the bow tie, and pink colored coconut on the ears.  

We gave up the coconut years ago because no child likes coconut – at least none I know. Through the years, jelly beans have replaced gum drops and no two cakes have looked the same.  One or two Grands can easily share decorating, but when three or four want to help, we determine which part of the cake each person decorates.

When I told Micah that I wasn’t sure who would decorate the bunny’s face, he said, “I did an ear last year and haven’t done the face in a long time.” Then his three older sisters chimed in.

“I think I did the other ear,” said Annabel.

“Annabel, didn’t you do the bow tie last year?  It was completely covered with jelly beans,” said Lucy.

“Was last year when Elsie made a Harry Potter face?”  Micah asked.

“Remember when someone made one eye high and the other one crying?  Who did that?”

“Do you think Samuel will help this year?”

“Did you get that red stuff for the whiskers?” I did. Finally, a question I could answer.

It was determined that no one knew for sure whose turn it is to decorate the face, the most important part of the cake, and that all four thought they might have done an ear, the least favorite, last year.  Someone ended the discussion when she said, “It’s okay, Gran, we’ll figure it out.”  (This year I’ll make a note of ears, bow tie, and face.)

Years ago, I didn’t know that Samuel and I were staring a tradition for his family.  I do know that the bunny cake has never looked exactly like the picture and each year’s cake depends on the whims of the decorators and how many jelly beans are available.

And I know this tradition is important. Traditions connect generations.  Traditions comfort.  Traditions offer stability.  Traditions make memories. Traditions create a sense of belonging.  

Decorating an Easter bunny cake is much more than fun and to have dessert for Easter Sunday dinner, it’s tradition.  I agree with a quote I recently read: Tradition is a very powerful force. 

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Sometimes, I wish for the Easter of my childhood. Easter morning was as exciting as Christmas because the Easter Bunny filled my Easter basket just as Santa Claus filled my Christmas stocking.  Common sense said that my parents were the Bunny and Santa, but the possibility of not getting a filled basket or stocking kept me from ever admitting facts.

            I’d run down the steps from my bedroom into the living room to see what was in my Easter basket, and I laid out each candy, piece by piece.  Mom knew my favorite was the individually cellophane wrapped egg-shaped candies that had marshmallow centers and hard-shell coverings ofpink, yellow, green, lavender, blue, or white. 

            I sorted candy by color, ate one or two a day so they’d last a long time, and saved the best for last – the yellow lemon-flavored ones.  Now these candies are called Easter Hunt Eggs since almost no one hides real eggs for an Easter Egg Hunt.

            But years ago on Saturday before Easter, Mom and I dyed boiled eggs for the church egg hunt.  My brother helped until he decided he was too old.  (I never got too old, even as a high-school and college student and mother and grandmother.)

            Easter Sunday morning, I felt like a princess!  All my clothes were new, from black patent shoes and white lace socks to a hair ribbon or decorated headband.  My new dress covered my new slip and new underwear and I even wore new white gloves.  I was told that wearing new clothes for Easter would bring good luck, but I didn’t care about luck, I just liked wearing all new clothes.

            Not only did I get new underwear for Easter Sunday, I got seven new pairs of panties – one for each day of the week.  The names of the days were embroidered in pastel colors.

            The only Easter Egg Hunt was after Sunday morning church service.  While the minister preached, for what seemed like hours, we children craned our necks to see outside through the open church windows where our daddies hid the Easter eggs.

            There was one prize egg, a big goose egg, and a prize was given to the person who found the most eggs.  From experience, we kids knew the prize egg might be hidden in the church building downspout or nestled in tall weeds beside a fencepost.  The egg hunt turned into a race.  For a few minutes, kids ran helter-skelter until we couldn’t find any eggs and the prize egg had been found.  With great ceremony, crisp one-dollar bills were presented as prizes.

            While I can’t take my Grands back two generations, together we make Easter traditions and memories.  We’ll decorate an Easter bunny cake and dye hard-boiled eggs and there’ll be an egg hunt, not for real eggs, but plastic eggs filled with candy and money.            

And maybe I’ll buy my Grands new clothes, or at least new underwear.  That would be a memory they’d never forget.

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