“He sure did,” I said, my voice still gravelly. “Did he eat the carrot we left?”
“Yeah,” I said, my throat tight. “Exactly like that flower.” proud father v0 13 0 easter westy
And that, I think, is what a proud father really is: “He sure did,” I said, my voice still gravelly
Easter, I’ve learned, is a particularly tricky build. Christmas has the big budget—trees, lights, a clear mythology. Easter is weirder. It’s more intimate. A rabbit breaks into your house and leaves boiled, dyed chicken embryos in a woven plastic basket. And in West Yorkshire, where the weather can’t decide between resurrection and another good frost, Easter feels like a metaphor struggling to happen. “He sure did