I just drove past a local Church where a sign announced Good Friday services. And suddenly, memories of the Good Fridays of my childhood came pouring in. My siblings and I went to a Catholic school and like all good little Catholics, spent three hours of Good Friday, from noon to 3pm (Catholics know exactly what time of day Jesus died. Did you know that?), in Church doing various Church things, but mostly sitting still.
Sitting still is hard enough for kids, harder still for us who had given up chocolate for Lent (the ultimate sacrifice in a family for whom the sweet gooey stuff was nearly a sacrament itself) because our minds were entirely focused on the approaching release from our Lenten vows.
We thought only of chocolate, of eating it, of Easter baskets and chocolate bunnies with those bunny ears. (We knew they had already been purchased – and hidden – by our mother. We knew they were somewhere in the house. We knew because we could smell them.)