Easter always makes me think of my next-door neighbor growing up, Mr. Tierney, He was what you would call a bit of a drinker. I used to hear him yell in his sleep outside my bedroom window about "the japs". On the surface, he seemed to suffer from some WWII PTSD but my dad claimed he never saw combat. Maybe that's why he would pull out his shotgun and aim it at the National Guard copters that regularly flew near our subdivision.
He would take a bunch of the neighborhood kids to Dairy Queen several nights a week in his giant 5th avenue. No seat belts or field sobriety tests. Talk about your free-range parenting. His house was cool to hang out and visit but instead of asking us to leave when he got tired of the kid invasion during the day he would claim one of us was a "jap" and chase us out the door with a butcher knife. We still came back. Dairy Queen is good shit.
The trauma I remember most was his threats to kill the Easter Bunny every year. This guy wasn't afraid to brandish a gun on a routine basis. I had to hope that the Rankin Bass "Peter Cottontail" TV Special was a documentary and he'd find a way around Mr. Tierney's Iron Tail. Anyway, the Easter Bunny comes most years so it's all true.