It’s Resurrection Sunday morning and it is quiet.

The silence summons reflection and asks me to travel back to what seems like moments ago.

My thoughts are centered on a time gone by and are accompanied by the sights, smells, and sounds of yesteryear.

Please accept my invitation to join me in peering through the window pane and allow me to share with you Easter Sunday circa 1960’s and 1970’s, during my “wonder years”.

A Resurrection Sunday has not passed since those days where my memories did not drift to our family observances of the Hope offered at this time of year – good thoughts, warm thoughts, family thoughts.

Our home was located in the Borough of Glassport, Pennsylvania, about 16 miles southeast of Pittsburgh situated along the Monongahela River.

I was raised in the catholic rite with the added distinction of the parish being culturally centered in the Polish ethnic tradition.

Holy Week, the time between Palm Sunday and Easter Sunday, was a big deal in the life of the church and for me.  It still is a BIG deal for me.

• Palms were handed out at mass on Palm Sunday morning.  Some of my relatives were creative and shaped the palms in the form of a cross.
• The day planner zipped from Sunday to Thursday, with no particular special remembrances of Monday, Tuesday, or Wednesday other than perhaps some preparations for the coming weekend.
• Mid-week transitioned into Holy Thursday and evening services commemorating the ceremonial washing of feet in remembrance of what Jesus did for His disciples.
• Good Friday could be pictured in the custom of our dietary restrictions, either fasting altogether or at a minimum of eating no meat and replacing it with some form of fish.
• The church we attended, Holy Cross Church, held both a solemn noontime service and then observed the Stations of the Cross, which traced Christ’s passion in a frame-by-frame manner.
• Stores were closed from noon until 3 p.m. in observance of Christ’s final hours – think of that in today’s, twenty four by seven shopping environment!
• The church bells were rung on a daily basis at six in the morning, noon, and six in the evening, with the exception of Good Friday where the bells were silenced.
• On Saturday there we no special services.  However, a trip was made to the church to have the priest bless our Easter breakfast fare which consisted of Polish kielbasa, horseradish, hard-boiled and dyed eggs, baked ham, Paska (Easter Bread), sidec (homemade egg and milk based cheese), a small flask of whiskey, and of course some chocolate.
• It was typically my job to make sure the basket was taken to the church at the appointed time to be blessed and to make sure we even had “holy whiskey”.

Sunday was the centerpiece of the entire week, a celebration of Christ’s resurrection and His triumph over death.

It was also a time to congregate as an extended family and gather around our family matriarch, Busha, my grandmother.

The invasion of relatives progressed throughout the day.  Our home became a revolving door of extended family coming and going – a familial zoo with all sorts of characters!

The invasion was led by the commanding officers, Aunts and Uncles named:

• Margie and Chester
• Gertie and Podge
• Edna and Harry
• Jenny and Pickles
• Mary Ann and Joe
•  Lulu and Bob
•  Joanne and Eddie
• Rita and Bobo

The ground troops followed next – as cousins too numerous to mention tagged along with their parents, certainly wanting to eat, play with each other, cause some havoc, and then return home.

In addition, friends and neighbors occasionally showed up as well.

And of course, the party invitations also included my family.  It was our house, we made the rules!

There was my Mom and Dad, Babe and Bruce.  In this picture Dad was sporting his “Joe Friday” look and Mom was stylin’ with her “Bouffant – high as the Empire State Building hairstyle“.

My two sisters, Bridgette on the left and Bonnie on the right are in their Sunday best and smiling with their childlike innocence.  I think their faces are hurting from the smiles frozen in time!

Myself (background) and my brother, Brian, look like we are auditioning for a spot with the Vienna Boys choir.

Lastly, in birth order and in commenting was the “baby” of the family, my youngest brother, Brendan.  In this photo he looks like he is struggling with a mess in his pants!

My Dad has since passed, Mom is remarried, and we as brothers and sisters now lead lives with families of our own.

I am honored to be a branch on this family tree, despite how wacky it might have been growing up in close quarters with a family of seven.  Our lives, as diverse and hectic as they may be, are to be cherished.

The seven of us “traveled” the fifteen steps downstairs to join the collective fray.

Are you sensing a theme in the “B” naming convention?

It is no small wonder why my Mom routinely called us by another’s name in the pace of our day to day existence.

During our family Easter celebration, at any given point the kitchen was bursting at the seams with hungry, opinionated, and loud kinsfolks.

We’re talking at least fifty people sardined into a six hundred square foot efficiency apartment.  Oxygen could have been sold at a handsome profit!

The smells of baked ham, chicken soup, warm bread, kielbasa, and desserts galore were enough to park you in a chair with a fork or spoon in your hand and let the feasting begin!

I miss those times as many in the family have passed and others have moved to places covering the map.

The home we lived in was originally owned by Busha (Martha) and her late husband, Judgi (Raymond), my grandfather.

Busha had a two room dwelling on the lower floor of the house – a kitchen and a living room / bedroom combo.  It was a way for our family to keep tabs on her as she grew older.

The most memorable part of Easter Sunday was Busha greeting me or me greeting her first thing in the morning prior to breakfast.

Breakfast was like a pre-game warm-up to the much larger food-fest noted above that would start around lunch.

The first to speak would say, “He has risen” to which the other would reply saying “He has risen indeed!”

Busha instilled in me a love of God.  Many times she would be in her rocking chair praying in her own way for all of us, her clan.

Of all the sights, sounds, and smells jammed into our typical Easter Sunday celebration, for me our mutual greeting is foremost in my memory of our Resurrection Day customs.

Busha, I thank God for you and the place in my heart which you hold.  I am honored to belong to your clan.

I can see her in my mind’s eye by her kitchen sink, turning around to see who has entered the room from the stairwell, and her eyes fixed on a tall, gangly teenager declaring:

“He has risen.  He has risen indeed!”

It would be a safe bet to believe that you, too, have memories and customs which you have once shared or either still share.

Cherish them.  They are a part of the fabric of your life, much like the ones I have recalled.

Enjoy this day with your family and in whatever way you may choose to spend it.

My prayer for you this day is to experience this truth in your own life and to know in your heart – “He has risen.  He has risen indeed!”

What does Easter mean to you and what customs do you observe?