Easter in the South
Judgmental bunny is so mean, y’all
Easter is comin in hot, y’all. Easter in the South is a big deal. And, to be honest, I’m a little nervous. There’s so much riding on the way in which I execute this holiday for my family. Get it wrong, I have a long way to dig out my salvation. I’m pretty sure that all my good deeds & all of my trips to Chick Fil A for the Lord’s chicken from the previous year get erased. Get it right, I’m all set, ready to judge those who don’t {KIDDING!} Just breathe, and…
Easter in the South is sacred. Living in the Bible Belt, that is a statement that can’t be argued. Some say it’s even more important a holiday than Christmas. Easter is held in highest regard in the South for two reasons: 1) to celebrate the resurrection of Jesus Christ (without which Christianity wouldn’t exist) 2) to celebrate the annual reintroduction of southern females into the world of spring fashion (the failure of such and my reputation wouldn’t exist).
For Mommas there’s a third angle: to show the world how well you can coordinate your family’s fashion to give the outward appearance of “shat togetherness”. While placing the second over the first in importance would be sac religious & an example of someone who needs prioritization help, the manner in which southern females celebrate both have a huge impact on public opinion of one’s degree of social acceptance or even, dare I say, admiration.
Get the first one wrong, you risk eternal damnation. Get the second wrong, you risk the same thing, but instead of “going” to hell, hell comes to you in the form of whispers & passive aggressive “Bless Her Heart”s.
When I was a kid we attended church regularly. Every Sunday was “church clothes” day but only within the timeframe of going to church. Once home, those clothes got changed out as quickly as possible for the less-fancy ones so as to not “mess up your church clothes”. I could wear whatever I wanted to church as long as tights, fancy shoes, a modest skirt with a dress shirt or dress, and well-coiffed, clean hair were on the list. In my mind, there was a direct correlation between the effort of the Church Clothes and Jesus’ love.
{Jesus loves the little children, all the children of the world… um, y’all left something out of the song! It’s supposed to be “well-dressed children of the world”. Who do I contact to get that fixed?}
The ol’ “come as you are” adage that so many church songs espoused was absolutely true, as long as “as you are” was clean, well-dressed & good at hiding your crazy so that you held the “appearance” of normality. It was a standard that had its flaws, certainly. Mainly that lots of us crazy, flawed folks are amazing actors {wink}. But as long as we LOOKED like we had our shat together, all was forgiven.
The church experience for my family now is different than the one I grew up with in a lot of ways. Gone are the Sunday morning tight fights, the squeaks of patent leather shoes, dresses with slips, ties for my guys. A lot of the time it’s all I can do to get my daughter to brush her hair & my son to brush his teeth. We take the “come as you are” invitation quite literally.
We attend a non-denominational church with amazing music, fantastic children’s experiences, AND no one cares if you’re divorced, a recovered addict, or a Pepsi drinker. Ok, ok. That last one is a lie. Pepsi drinkers in the South are definitely judged. But if you want to wear jeans, wear jeans. No makeup? No problem. But I gotta say, there is something I miss about the fancy Sunday Church experience and I’m reminded of that every Easter.
When my kids were smaller it was easy to dress the family up fancy for Easter and have all the cute photo ops. Now, however, when I tell them to dress up for a nice event, you’d think I were forcing them to choose their favorite parent. “WHY??? Why would you make me do this??? It’s not FAIR!!” (Not true. It’s totally me. I’m the favorite parent.) The point is that they hate it. I get a lot of stank eye. A lot of huffing and puffing. It’s not pretty. So is it worth the fight? Ab-so-fuggin-lootly.
Here’s what I wish I understood better when I was younger and what I hope to instill in my children as they grow: despite what others may say, reserving your nicest clothes for “special” occasions is a sign of respect. It’s an outward acknowledgment that the occasion you are commemorating is worthy of the effort, time, and care taken to look your best. Whether the clothes are expensive doesn’t matter. Whether others like your fashion choices doesn’t matter. What matters is that YOU are making the effort.
So, yes, when you see my family looking adorable and amazing while I look like I’ve thrown a dress over my body after running a marathon and fighting a pissed off jellyfish, mind ya bidniz. It’s called doing the best I can with what I’ve got. And teaching my kids the importance of Easter.
