Fahoo fores dahoo dores
His hated holiday was Christmas. The presents. The tree. The lights. The roast beast.
And tomorrow is Easter. So what's the connection?
We've got a vile virus, as grinchy as can be, trying to take away our Easter by preventing us from gathering to rejoice.
Parents of little ones prolly have somehow managed to get the peeps and the chocolate-covered eggs and the jelly beans. They've had plenty of time to dig out the baskets they'd put away somewhere from last Easter. Families will dye the eggs and some will be relieved that they don't need to have a fancy, special hat to wear this year to church. To church . . . well, that's not going to happen. The corona grinch has seen to that.
Or has it?
For Easter, like Christmas, "perhaps, means a little bit more" than the candy and the bunny and the baskets and the hats.
It does. Even more than in December, we remember "the reason for the season."
So in the spirit of the Whos down in Whoville, tomorrow we will cry out from our individual homes,
" Fahoo fores wahoo dores! He is risen! He is risen indeed!"