The Holly Story and Nothing But the Holly Story
It came in an oversized white rectangular box. I was ten, maybe twelve, and beyond the tradition of hunting for Easter eggs. And I was certainly “over” my belief in the Easter Bunny. But my grandparents, who held the secular rituals of Easter dear, still gave gifts. Thus the rather simple box laying in my lap that morning several decades ago. I was startled to find what was inside; it appeared to be a dismembered stuffed animal. I was startled, and am afraid I let out an “Oh!” or some similar exclamation because the sight was a bit disturbing: long,…
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