I want to tell you all a story about bunnies.  Bunnies and their mommies.  

When I was little my mommy used to read me a story.  Well, she read me many stories.  My brother was privy to the story-reading sessions as well, when he came along.  His favorite was about some bunnies.  Bunnies who caused trouble to protect the ones they love and to destroy the evil that existed.  And this became justified.  Until everything evil then became justified.  

Bunnies apologize by putting their heads together as if they are trading thoughts.  They hold their heads together and close their eyes.  A word for apology.  Let me love you again, please forgive me, I’m so sorry.  I love you! Forgiven!  And that is just what bunnies do.  Apologies and forgiveness became normal and as simple as bunnies made it, until everything unforgivable became forgivable.  And maybe that was the point, to teach kids that nothing is so bad that it doesn’t deserve forgiveness.  But perhaps that taught these young kids to believe that nothing they ever do is ever truly bad.  Or maybe it taught them that nothing anyone ever does to them is truly bad, therefore any feeling associated with it is moot, trashed, crumbs of worth.  Because everything is forgivable.  

So maybe these bunnies were special in a certain way.  Maybe they gave the kids hope in young, little creatures that could conquer.  Maybe it helped them see what meanness does to a person.  Maybe it created an idea in their heads that feelings aren’t important.  Or maybe it wasn’t the bunnies who did this at all, but a different influence entirely. 

I don’t know much about bunnies other than what I’ve been told, but i can tell you for certain that they wouldn’t have wanted the little ones growing up believing what they believed, feeling what they felt and were taught not to feel. These bunnies, I swear to you, would’ve vowed to protect the little ones if only they knew.  But no one knew.  And no one knows because to talk about it would be unfolding pain that took such little time but such effort to wrap up.  A box of dark, slippery, egg-like vomit slid into a box with a pink bow decoratively placed on top.  Because that’s what mommies do, they make the evil stay where it belongs by choosing not to see it, decorating a house full of lights and streamers for a little peanut that is nowhere to be found.