EASTER SUNDAY on Oakwood Avenue always provided a wonderful opportunity to dress anew, in the name of Jesus. As a child, we stayed up late night Saturday preparing our clothes. Getting our hair pressed. Picking the greens for Sunday dinner. Reciting our Easter speeches until we gained overwhelming approval from Granny. We knew when that streetlight shine radiated from her wide grin that we had mastered her rote technique.

Ahhh. Those were the days. Or were they?

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