Easter Door
At our house, Easter morning was like Christmas morning, just as exciting, because of the waiting, suspense, and climactic instant. Christmas morning we three had to wait at the bottom of the stairs without peaking round the corner at the tree to see what Santa had done, waiting until the instant our parents said OK, and then burst into the living room together.
Easter morning the wait was the same, but we three gathered in the living room at the large, heavy wooden front door. The suspense was high. Had the Easter Bunny left three baskets on the front porch, or not? At the instant, our father opened the door and peaked out, sometimes looked sadly back at us and shook his head. Hearts fell for a moment, then the door was swung open to reveal three loaded Easter baskets.
From January 1938, we lived in the same house all our growing up years. The large, thick, heavy, solid oak front door was a defining feature of our house on Massalina Drive.
When the house was being built in 1937, mama selected the door, white on the outside, deep, rich oak on the inside. To me, it was beautiful, and always a sign of strength, security, safety. Probably an early childhood impression because it was astonishingly different from the cheap front door on the rental house we had lived in before that. And because of our annual Easter ritual, the one thing that always happened at that exact gathering and waiting spot, the door kept Easter morning in my mind all year long.
When the house was being built in 1937, mama selected the door, white on the outside, deep, rich oak on the inside. To me, it was beautiful, and always a sign of strength, security, safety. Probably an early childhood impression because it was astonishingly different from the cheap front door on the rental house we had lived in before that. And because of our annual Easter ritual, the one thing that always happened at that exact gathering and waiting spot, the door kept Easter morning in my mind all year long.
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