Wonder at the Possible

This is a Greek Easter story from my Greek-American childhood.  It’s a story of awe, of wonder at the possible.

We had Easter eggs like Americans did: brightly dyed in cups of water colored by little pellets and lifted out with a wire contraption that came with the pellets.

We also had Easter eggs given us by the priest on Easter Sunday.   Sharing hardboiled eggs came to our Christian church from the Jewish tradition of sharing eggs when sitting shiva, the eggs a symbol of the circle of life, of eternal life. We would line up and receive an egg dyed a deep, Christ-blood red.  The priest would say to each of us, ‘Christos anesti’ and we would respond, ‘Alethos anesti’  Christ is risen!  Surely, he is risen!

The Little Boy

This is a story about a little boy.  Like all children, he was magic.  The stars spoke to him through his window.  His feelings were color.  His father was a bright, intensive yellow, like the sun.  His home was a cool blue.  Every time he left his room the world was new.

There was a giant weeping willow tree in the large yard of the rich people who lived at the corner of his street.  Every day as the little boy passed the tree on his way to school or to the schoolyard to play, he stopped for a moment beneath its drooping branches which almost touched the ground.  Going under, he was the son of his parents.  He emerged with new attributes and eyes, as a fearless warrior or a dreamer within a dream.