A Never-to-Forget Easter from My Childhood - Janet, 64

Easter came early that year.  The days were still cold, even with the sun shining.  I threw on my coat as I ran towards the door.  “Come on, Mommy!” I yelled, eager to leave.  This was a very special shopping trip for me and my mother.

Janet getting in the family car

I ran to the car and jumped up on the seat as soon as the door was open.  The felt-like material did not provide a smooth glide to my spot beside mother who was driving.  It was the time before seat belts, so I was able to sit very close to her.  I snuggled up into her warmth, especially nice on this day.

Excitement raced through me, and the little bursts of energy made it hard to sit still on our ride to town. Thoughts jumped around in my head about the things Mommy and I talked about the night before.  She made sure I knew how much work they would be when we brought them home, but I just knew it would be easy and so much fun! 

Town seemed further away than on previous rides, but at last I saw the familiar store buildings coming into sight as I peered above the dash board out the window.  After lots of tries moving the car forward and back, Mom was able to squeeze into the one empty parking spot on the busy street.

She came around to the curb side to let me out of the car.  I was a little too anxious.  She had to grab my arm to hold me back as I bolted toward the entrance of Woolworth‘s five and dime store.  “Hurry, Mommy, please, before they’re all gone!”  We opened the big glass doors.  The pungent smell of hot dogs and the whirling sound of the milkshake machine was worthy of a quick glance to the soda fountain, but not for long.

“There they are!” I shouted, dashing straight ahead.  There under the warmth of the light bulbs hanging above the large box were a large number of fluffy, pecking Easter chicks.  They were all different colors.  The colors were pastel and so pretty; I couldn’t decide which ones to take home – pink, yellow, blue, or green?  My memory is a little fuzzy on my selection, but the saleslady kept taking them out and placing the chicks in the box for us to take home.  I suspect my mother bought one of each color because she thought they were cute too.

Mom carefully placed the box on the seat between us.  She pulled away from the parking spot as we listened to the chatter inside the box the whole way home.  “Cheep, cheep, cheep!”  I thought my chicks must have been happy to be rescued from that big store.

When we arrived home, Mom decided it was best if she carried the box of new arrivals into our house.  I walked close beside her and kept jumping up for a closer look inside the box.  The moment I had been waiting for finally came when she sat the box down for me to welcome my fluffy new friends.  Carefully, tenderly, I picked each one up stroking them with my little finger.  They were so soft like little round balls of fluff!

After several hours of fascination with my chicks, it was bedtime.  Mom and I thought the chicks were cold since it was a chilly night.  Since we didn’t have a light bulb to hang above them, Mom put the box in a warm place and turned out the lights.

As the light of morning came into my window, I jumped out of bed to greet my little chicks.  It turns out that it was not as easy and fun to take care of those chicks like I thought it would be.  There they were belly-up, little legs raised in the air, resting in the box which Mom had placed on top of the heat radiator for warmth.  Guess we should have looked for a light bulb!

In remembering this story, I want to acknowledge my Mom for creating the first recipe of “slow-cooked chicken.”  Although her heart was in the right place, the chickees were not!