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Devlyn Brooks, Published April 13 2010

Brooks: Bunny queries abound

"Dad, how did the Easter Bunny know Garrett likes Chuck Norris?” the 7-year-old Bug asked as he watched his older brother peel open his newest DVD of his favorite action hero.

“Yeah, Dad, how did the Easter Bunny know I like Chuck Norris?” asked Garrett, with what I detected as a devilish twinkle in his eye.

“Well,” I said, as I shot my 12-year-old my best don’t-go-there stare, “he just knows, Bug. I don’t know how he knows, but he’s pretty clever, that

ol’ Easter Bunny.”

“Huh, and isn’t it just amazing how he knew that Carter likes Matchbox cars?” Garrett chimed in, the devilishness sinking from his eyes down into

a mischievous smirk.

“Yes, I guess it is,” I said, focusing my you’re-entering-hot-water gaze upon one near-teenage jokester. “But what I think is even more amazing is how he knows just who to give Easter presents to.

You know, skipping the children who are naughty and don’t deserve an Easter basket. Right, Garrett?”

“But, Dad,” the Bug pleaded, “how does the Easter Bunny remember what every kid likes?

That’s impossible.”

“Yeah, Dad,” Garrett added, “how does he do it? Does he keep a list like … Santa?”

“Well … maybe so,” I challenged my oldest back. “Just maybe he keeps in touch with Santa, and they help each other decide who should receive their presents.”

Undaunted, my oldest pushed back.

“But, Dad, Santa has that big ol’ sleigh and the reindeer to help him carry around all those presents. How do you think the Easter Bunny manages to carry all those baskets?” he said, the sarcasm dripping from the corners of his Cheshire Cat smile.

“Look, I don’t know the physics involved. I’ve never had the opportunity to interview the Easter Bunny and ask him how he delivers all the baskets,” I said, gesticulating a third-base-coach-like signal to my oldest that he’d better quit before I really became testy. “I just know that every year he shows up and delivers a basket to good boys and girls … Garrett.”

“But Dad,” said the Bug looking up into my eyes, “do you really think the Easter Bunny is real?”

“Well, of course I do,” I said. “How else would you have gotten this stuff?”

“Oh, I don’t know,” Garrett said, doing his best to stifle a chuckle. “Maybe you could have bought it.”

“Yeah, Dad, you could have bought it,” said the Bug, whose gaze dropped to the toys and candy in his lap that no longer seemed quite so magical.

“Well, I suppose I could’ve,” I said, mustering up a this-conversation-

is-over look for my 12-year-old nemesis. “But I didn’t. That is the Easter Bunny’s job.”

“But, Dad …?” the Bug asked.


“Some kids in my class say that there is no Easter Bunny,” he said. “They say it’s just their parents that buy the Easter baskets.”

“Yeah, Dad,” burst Garrett, hardly containing himself, “some of the kids say …”

S-i-g-h, I thought. Despite my best efforts to prolong it, the Easter Bunny had likely made his last visit to the Brooks household. And I wasn’t ready for that.

Devlyn Brooks is an editor for Forum Communications Co. He lives

in Moorhead with his two sons.