An Easter Blessing

This morning—on an Easter Sunday unlike any other—I sat on a park bench in Van Cortlandt’s Tail. While the day commenced sunny and pleasant, the weather abruptly changed and not for the better. A couple of other hearty souls rested along with me in this unusual snippet of parkland with a bird’s-eye view of Broadway and the El above it. Naturally, we practiced social distancing to the letter with considerably more than six feet separating us.

At some point a fellow with a conspicuous ambulatory issue ambled through the Tail on his way to Van Cortlandt Park proper. He was masked and gloved but didn’t feel compelled to remain at least six feet apart from his fellow New Yorkers. As this man crossed my path with maybe a yard to spare, he bellowed, “How are you, sir?” “Okay, how are you?” I answered. “I’m above ground!” he replied.

This mysterious passerby then informed me that he recently called his doctor and complained that he was experiencing some serious leg pain. From the looks of him, I have no doubt he was. The doctor’s response was that he should be “grateful” that he “could feel pain.” Personally, I would have preferred a new painkiller. But in this peculiar snapshot in time, that tête-à-tête just might have to pass as an Easter blessing.

But, really, being above ground and in a tremendous amount of pain isn’t the be-all and end-all. A case can often be made that being below ground—when the circumstances warrant it—has its place. Who, though, am I to say that this crippled guy wasn’t absolutely sincere in passing on that thankful-to-be-alive sentiment to me on the holiest of holy days for Christendom and in the midst of pandemic?

Once upon a time there were Easter baskets chock-full of chocolate bunnies, crème eggs, and crosses from Loft’s candy shop. Even as a kid, the cross—sans a personage nailed to it—seemed an odd thing to double as a milk chocolate candy. It didn’t, though, stop me from breaking it apart, consuming it, and thoroughly enjoying the taste sensation. Considering what we were ingesting during Holy Communion, I suppose the cross was fair game.

As memory serves, the Easter Bunny—bless his soul—wasn’t only a bearer of chocolate delights, jellybeans, and those horrible Peeps, he also brought baseball cards, sometimes even those triple packs. The Easter Bunny appreciated how the season represented both “He Has Risen” and “Play Ball.” I can’t say how the current situation impacted his appointed rounds this morning, but I suspect he did what he had to do—while wearing a mask and gloves—without a hitch. 

(Photos from the personal collection of Nicholas Nigro)