Life in the Ville by Jimmy Del Ponte

Considering the current pandemic, Easter will not be how we are used to celebrating. Here is a story I did in 2008. I’m sure we will all do our best to make Easter as enjoyable as possible.

Easter was a special time in my family because I had an Uncle Chick and an Uncle Bunny. Really! I used to love telling people that. Easter was the kind of holiday when we got new shoes and new clothes. I remember it was a struggle because my parents never liked the suit jackets I liked. I went for a red plaid jacket one year and I ended up wearing some dumb looking thing that I hated.

The trip to Anderson-Little in Medford was a pain in the butt. The only good thing about it was that we always went to Howard Johnson’s at Wellington Circle when we were done. We’d pile into my father’s old Rambler American and take the drive to hell. It was an hour of trying on hideous suit jackets and gross looking trousers that made me look like an Italian version of a mini Wally Cleaver. By the way I finally convinced my parents to buy me a red suit jacket a couple of years later.

The suit jacket would never fit right because my parents would buy a size bigger than I wore, so I could get more than one season out of it. The problem was, I didn’t have those normal growth spurts, so by the time I grew into it, the jacket was outdated, stained or ripped.

And the pants! When I was a pre-teen the style was pegged pants, but I wasn’t allowed to wear tight pants. I had to wear these baggy wool pants that not only itched but also made me look like an idiot. We called them balloon pants because when the wind blew, they inflated from the bottom. They would have been in style today. I also had to wear goofy orthopedic shoes for a few years. It added to the misery of the uncomfortable clothes.

The only kids in my neighborhood whose parents let him dress cool was Pat O’Neil and his brother Dennis. They had the pegged pants, the pointed shoes, the in-style jackets and the cool haircuts. One year my folks actually let me get penny loafers at Thom McCann’s. Of course, I put dimes in them.

We didn’t mind looking silly when we were really young. When my brother and I were six and three, my parents dressed us up alike in tweed suits, complete with matching little beanie hats. Man, were we cute.

Mom always made sure that my sister was dressed to the nines. She had the pretty bonnet, the gorgeous dress, the stockings with little flowers on them, a little pocket book and patent leather shoes. Gilchrists, Gorins or The Children’s Shop were where the girls stuff usually came from.

Fanny Farmer in Davis Square had the good stuff. We didn’t get Cadbury eggs or Reese’s Eggs but we got Marshmallow Peeps. I think they only came in yellow back then. Am I the only person that hates those bogus things? Remember what a rip off it was getting a hollow chocolate bunny?

In the basket were also some foil covered chocolate eggs. Remember the first time you tried chewing one without taking the foil wrapping off? It was the most painful thing ever. That was the first real buzz I ever got! I think I actually saw Satan! Ah, those Easter memories!

My brother and sister and I would get all wired up on chocolate and then my parents would drag us to church. They actually expected us to sit there quietly with our extreme sugar-rushes. Plus, we’d always sneak some candy with us to church too. If we were lucky, we would get Father Coughlin at St. Clements. He was a chaplain during the war and he said the mass fast. The legend was that they never knew when they would start shelling and dropping bombs again so he had to say mass quickly. It worked for me.

Legend has it that my grandfather gave my aunt a baby lamb named Bambi one November. When it mysteriously disappeared around the following Easter, Grandpa told everyone, “Bambi had to go live on a farm.” That’s the first time I ever heard of a serving dish referred to as a “farm.” RIP Bambi.

We piled into that old Rambler and had to make the rounds. My parents paraded us over to our aunts houses and finally to grandma’s and grandpa’s on Elmwood St. My folks really got their money’s worth out of those new duds. Visiting my grandparents was always the highlight of Easter Sunday.

Some Easter traditions stay the same. We’ll be eating the hard boiled eggs that our kids or grandkids colored for days. Who cares if the white part is various shades of blues and greens. There will also still be strands of that plastic colored grass around the house for the next three weeks. Let’s hope that the dog doesn’t eat any like last year.

For Easter 2022, I will also be missing the great antipasto my Aunt Olga (in photo) used to make for me every Easter. When this crisis is over, I’ll make an antipasto in Auntie’s memory. Stay safe.