Memories of Easter - Black Jelly Bean Fiasco - Deb Martin-Webster Books
Black Jelly Bean Fiasco
Oh, the trouble we caused our dear mother on Easter morning. My brother wanted to wear his thread worn Roy Roger’s pajama to church instead the new navy blue suit. My sister hated her hat and hair. I wanted to take our dog Patches, a multi-breed mutt adorned with pink paper bunny ears to sunrise service. Mom swore it would be our final Easter on earth if we didn’t behave. She was the disciplinarian, our dad was the softy. He’d say, “Always express the inner you no matter what.” Mom, on the other hand wanted total obedience and quiet until it was time to load us into the car. She would insist my older sister help me dress because as always we were running late. Sis tried to help me into my crinoline. For those of you too young to remember what a crinoline is - it’s a scratchy, stiff, layered, thigh torturing, petticoat worn underneath a scratchy, stiff, layered, thigh torturing Easter dress. I was ordered by my loving sister, “Put it on or I’ll make you wear it as a hat!” I said,”Mom already got me a hat with a pink ribbon bow.”
No one heard my whining comment because my brother was crying. He was always crying. He ran through the house yelling Roy Rogers would string him up if he couldn’t wear his cowboy pajamas to church. Dad chased him up the stairs and finally cornered him in a closet. He got the suit on him and promised he’d have a long talk with Roy after church. In the kitchen mom had me seated in “The Chair” to put the final touch on my shoulder length frizzy hair. The house reeked of hot curling iron and pomade. Girls who needed their hair hot-pressed would end up with what we called the Easter Ear Brand caused by a molten hot curling iron coming inches away from the flesh on your ears. I would always flinch causing it to burn the tip. Just about every little black girl in church had one. Fortunately, they healed quickly. What fond Easter memories, indeed.
Mom also had the additional challenge of feeding us before the service. I wanted Cheerios, the rest of the family wanted eggs, bacon and toast for breakfast, except my brother, he wanted jelly beans. He had picked all the black jelly beans out of his Easter basket. He wanted to put them in his Wheaties. Dad made him put them back or so he thought. We ate an indigestion-filled breakfast and thirty minutes later we were out the door. Dad had the car motor running as mom loaded us into the back seat of our green Pontiac. Back then seatbelts were not mandatory so we were instructed to sit perfectly still. An endless chorus of stop touching me played all the way to the church. We had to park three blocks way. Nothing makes a cranky kid happier than walking three city blocks in new, tight, uncomfortable Easter shoes. By the time we got to the church the service had started. The church was packed. We crept our way to the balcony and sat down in order of age. Don’t ask me why - it was just another one of mom’s nonsensical rules. I remember her taking a deep breath. She whispering, “Thank you Jesus for getting me and my family here in one piece.” I hear dad whisper the same prayer. We’d snicker and poke each other while watching a fat lady seated directly in front of us try to adjust her wig under her huge floral hat. We’d pretend to gag because the gentleman behind us smelled like mothballs. Our parents were so engrossed in the sermon they weren’t paying attention to us. We eventually fell asleep in the pew.
Mom woke us up just in time to leave. Everyone waited patiently in line to shake hands with the reverend; congratulating him on another fine Easter Sunday sermon. Mom wanted to take a family photo with him. Dad handed the camera to a passing church attendant who snapped three quick photos of our family. What a wonderful way to preserve memories of Easter. As we walked back to the car mom noticed we were very quiet. Our brother was walking with his hands in his pockets. Very odd behavior - but mom was too tired to investigate. As we pulled into our driveway they boasted how proud they were of us behaving so well in church. We ran up the stairs eager to change our clothing in preparation for Easter dinner. Another Easter survived! The next morning dad took the film into the city to be developed.
Two weeks later the photos were ready. Dad picked them up after work and gave them to mom. Mom thumbed through Christmas photos, December and March birthday photos. Back then film stayed in the camera for months before developing it. Suddenly, we hear a scream from the living room. We found mom staring in horror at the Easter photos. Dad picked up the photos that fell out of mom hand to view three beautiful photos of us with the reverend, all smiling, all with blackened teeth and tongues from black jelly beans and my little brother grinning and waving at the camera with two black, sticky hands!
Photograph Information: Easter Sunday – Circa 1955 (left to right) me, my sister and little brother the year after the black jelly bean fiasco.
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