Today, grandparents across the globe are emerging from the wreckage of empty Peeps cartons and half-eaten chocolate bunnies. As they slowly squeeze into their “weekday trousers” and blend bizarre milkshakes with strawberries and ham, they will celebrate something even greater than the resurrection: the hollow religious gestures of their family.
“Hallelujah!” Exclaimed local grandmother Marge Fitzgerald, giving a double fist pump. “They’re still believers! Now I get to spend the rest of the year bragging to Winifred and the knitting girls about how sweetly little Alice sang from the hymnal and how Joey didn’t steal the first dollar from the offering plate. I tell you, I worry about my babies and their relationship with our savior. What with the Jason Bieber and the kids following each other around on Twittle. Last time I used the Internet, it was all Korean mobsters parading about with their ‘gang man style.’ But this year, those kids really convinced me.”
Even as many grandparents enjoy the glory that results from socially enforced religious traditions, their descendants reel from the trauma of Easter services, where the perfume was thick and the blood of Christ was even thicker. While trying to keep their grandparents in the dark about who they truly are, the youngest grandkids spent weeks studying the church service rituals they’ve been ignoring to play Zelda on a 3DS for years. Older grandkids, however, navigated the harrowing task of acting sober while they try not to chug from the communion glass.
“Dad took us out of school to spend the week training: Lord’s Prayer at dawn, communion at noon, Bible study at night,” said Marge’s 11 year-old grandson, Joey. “We spent every afternoon jogging around the yard, crossing our chests and chanting ‘Peace be with you! And also with your spirit!’ Dad even taught us to dodge questions about the ‘real meaning of Easter’ and not to snicker at the priest’s silly outfit.”
“Yeah I went to sunrise mass with my grandma, but I was still clobbered from Bull’s last night,” said Fitzgerald’s eldest granddaughter, Kelsey, as she carefully tucked her vomit-ridden hair into a top knot. “I left the bar at 2:00, butt-chugged a liter of Evian, took a nap in the shower and got there just in time to kiss Grammy on the cheek before I had to excuse myself to throw up in the vat of Holy Water. It’s like, Jesus sacrificed himself for our sins, so I might as well hold up my end of the bargain and sin until I physically cannot step into a church without getting heartburn.”