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LimaOhio...
Easter now minus
bonnets, lacy gloves
Bart Mills
April 05, 2012
The little gloves are the culprit. Sure, the bonnet plays a part, but
it’s those tiny, lacy gloves that break me down every time.
It’s almost Easter, so you know where I’m going with this. At least, if
you are a parent you get it, particularly if you are the parent of
young women who once, not altogether long ago, were little girls.
It’s a nostalgia we’re all guilty of. Well, maybe not all. I suppose
there are parents out there who don’t look back with a sepia-shaded
fondness on the days when their babies were actual babies, but I don’t
want to contemplate that sort of sadness right now. I’m happily wrapped
in my blanket of bonnet nostalgia.
Bonnets, and those little-girl gloves.
We are all prompted to nostalgia by different cues. For some, the smell
of pine brings memories of cacophonous Christmas mornings when their
children still squealed with joy over some since-forgotten toy. Others
get misty at the sight of a baby, longing for the days that soft,
cooing bundle was there’s to take home. For me, it’s as simple as the
sight of an Easter ham in the fridge and memories of those silly,
gauze-like gloves.
If you haven’t had the great fortune of raising daughters, let me fill
you in on the details. Along with the other trappings of the holiday —
the sunrise service, painted eggs and the much-anticipated visit by a
giant rabbit — there is the tradition of fresh duds. When you have
boys, that means new pants, maybe a sweater or one of those suits that
makes them look like miniature insurance adjusters. But when you have
girls, the options expand exponentially.
I can’t pretend I cared too deeply about what my girls wore most days.
I figured warm, hole-free and absent any visible gravy stains put them
even with most of the other kids and ahead of their old man. But
Easter, that was a different story, the Oscars of Christian holidays
when anything goes and nothing is considered over-the-top. It was
excess, and excess is where I shine.
Each year, the girls got new dresses and some shiny strap shoes to
match. When they were little, it was something gauzy and light with
enough poof in the skirt to camouflage the diaper bulge. But as they
grew, we moved to frilly, sunny dresses and the full accessory package
complete with those blessed gloves and bonnet.
I know there were a half-dozen or so through the years, but two stick
out in my memory. There’s a yellow number Mills Child 1 wore when she
was 4, maybe 5, a flower-splattered number of stiff cotton with white,
puffy sleeves and a bright yellow belt, the bonnet accented with one
yellow, plastic daisy. Around the same time, Mills Child 2 scored a
long, green dress with a simple, reddish pattern we joked were Easter
carrots. I’d like to say it was a Hannah Anderson dress, but given our
budget at the time, I suspect it was a knock-off. She skipped the
bonnet that year, in favor of two adorable pig tails jutting out on
each side and, of course, a pair of white, cotton gloves.
We took a picture that year, the two of them in a chair in front of our
favorite maple holding a notepaper sign that read Happy Easter and the
year. I can’t recall the year, or what ever happened to the photo, but
it makes my chest ache to think of it now.
There is no question those days are past me. Those cute, pigtailed
girls are now teenagers with no patience for their dad’s wardrobe
advice. I’m hoping I can talk them into a dress for Sunday service, but
I may end up settling for slacks and a dressy top. I’m hoping to talk
the eldest out of wearing her “Free Carl” T-shirt to family dinner.
There’s no chance I’ll get them into bonnets. The little gloves are
even more out of the question. But who knows, maybe a decade from now
I’ll be battling nostalgic tinges for that T-shirt. I have my doubts.
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