Years and years ago, in a land far far away, Easter was a time for people to get all dodded up. People understood the concept of an “Easter dress” or “Easter suit” or, dare I say it, an “Easter bonnet.”
Those times are long gone, at least here in Orlando, where “Easter” means wearing khakis instead of jeans.
A few of us fogies still cling to the old ways, however. This past Easter was no exception. To the contrary, in fact. Since it was my first day serving communion at the church, my wife and I went even farther towards the “overdressed” side of things.
As we sat in the pew waiting for church to begin, our six year old tugged on his mom’s sleeve.
“Mom,” he said. “You look great!”
She smiled. “Well, thank you!”
“I mean, not as good as grampa,” he continued. “but good. Really, really good.”