Easter and the Neurotic Child

When I was four or five, I believed that the song HERE COMES PETER COTTONTAIL ( Hoppin' Down The Bunny trail) was MY song. Not as in my favorite song. It was more of an ownership thing. Maybe my brothers could listen to it on our 78 with the purple label , but only I could sing it. Me and Fran Allison, of course, who sang it on the record. The B side was something about a stairway.

I would sing it and I would sing it; I see myself at the back of our driveway singing it, and then hearing a agonizing echo coming from the backyard. My brother was ambling around to the back door singing -- maybe even humming -- my possession, Bunny Trail. I burst into tears. Became inconsolable. Wanted my Mom and my Dad to punish him. Over the years, I didn't get better. I accused my former husband of thinking he owned the Beatles.

Today I make amends to the Universe and ask that you might raise your voices with me:

On the count of three now...

Here comes Peter Cottontail,
Hoppin' down the bunny trail,
Hippity, hoppity,
Easter's on its way.

Bringin' every girl and boy Baskets full of Easter joy,
Things to make your Easter bright and gay.
He's got jelly beans for Tommy,
Colored eggs for sister Sue,
There's an orchid for your Mommy
And an Easter bonnet, too.

Oh! here comes Peter Cottontail,
Hoppin' down the bunny trail,
Hippity hoppity,
Happy Easter day.

Here comes Peter Cottontail,
Hoppin' down the bunny trail,
Look at him stop,
and listen to him say:
"Try to do the things you should."
Maybe if you're extra good,
He'll roll lots of Easter eggs your way.

You'll wake up on Easter morning
And you'll know that he was there
When you find those choc'late bunnies
That he's hiding ev'rywhere.

Oh! here comes Peter Cottontail,
Hoppin' down the bunny trail,
Hippity hoppity,
Happy Easter day.