…..How many Easters have I been writing about a bunny? Her name was Roberta Bunny and she was Peter Rabbit’s wife. Roberta went through many life changes over those years and many readers will tell you that “Roberta Bunny” was my alter ego. I mean Roberta went through the many stages of growth, development and angst that many women did back in the 70’s and 80”. She had good reason to be angry. You see, while Peter Rabbit got all the credit for Easter Baskets and the such, Roberta was the one who made it happen. She was angry and that anger fueled her transformation.
……..But, I’m starting in the middle as I sometimes do. I need to start at the beginning.
……It was 1970-something. I was living on Second Avenue in New Cumberland; was married and had two kids, 11 and 8. I also was juggling part-time work at the Hancock County Courier and wrote a column “Hometown Heartbeat” Every week I interviewed a member of the community whose efforts were the heart of our small town. (I know, I know. But, I had stars in my eyes before the world had its way with me.”)
……It was the week before Easter and I had had nothing done. I was still searching for the perfect dress for Miss Puppy Tail who loved crinolines and lace and a tiara hat if we could locate one. The eldest one was protesting the baby blue leisure suit with a silky shirt that made him look like a miniature John Travolta and he said would make him the laughing stock of Second Ave. Meanwhile no candy bought, no ham in the fridge, no eggs colored and a column deadline pressing down on me.
…….Then it dawned on me. Why not interview the “man…or bunny of the day….Peter Rabbit.” Since it wasn’t quite time for him to come hop, hop, hopping down the bunny trail, I trudged up the bunny trail where his hutch was located behind Second Ave. Wasn’t easy. It was a warm spring day and I had on the “uniform” I wore to work every day. I knew if I dressed the part I would become the hard -boiled reporter I longed to be. I had on a silk shirt and a tweed jacket with Gloria Vanderbuilt jeans and the highest of heels….Candies they were called. I was sweatin and slippin off my Candies as I trudged up the hill.
…….There it was. The infamous bunny hutch. Sounded like Peter was doing some partying as I knocked and knocked, rang and rang the doorbell, until the door opened and before me stood a disheveled bunny with chocolate in her hair, and marshmallow on her apron. Little bunnies clung to her dress and the shag carpet had smashed eggs mixed with Easter basket grass. It wasn’t pretty.
…….”What?” she asked. “Do I look like I need any Avon?”
………. Well, she was a charmer. But, not to worry. Peter was the one I wanted, not this woebegone, bedraggled bunny. From her living room, I could hear her stereo blaring. It wasn’t “Here Comes Peter Cottontail.” Nope, it was “I am Womaaaaaan.” No way had Gloria Steinman met this woman.
………”I’m a reporter (oh, how I loved to say that word) and I’m here to interview Peter about how he makes Easter happen.”
…….”Peter’s not here and who the **** do you think makes Easter happen. Do you think that lazy rabbit boils eggs and colors them? Do you think he does the molds of chocolate bunnies? And, do you think he’d know a jelly bean if it hit him in the ear? I’m the one who does it all. And, I do it all while taking care of these sweet little bunnies who all need Easter costumes” she paused as she looked at one bunny “Heloise, take that Playboy bunny costume off. That’s not what we meant when we said Easter costume.”
…….I was so distressed. But, who was I kidding. I knew this story was just the tip of the iceberg. I had only one question for her.”
“Why do you do it,” I said. “Why do you do all the work and let him take the credit. It’s just not fair.”
…..”Of course, it’s not fair. But it’s reality,” said Roberta. ”Have you tried to get child care and make enough on minimum wage to take care of the little bunnies? Do you know we can’t even get a credit card or a mortgage on our own?”
……Of course I knew, too. I had just chosen to think things would never change and I had to make the best of it.
…… “Roberta, something has to change and the only way it’s going to change is if we women organize.” As I slipped and slid down the hill, I heard strains coming from the house “I am woman hear me roar.”
…..And roar we did. The seventies was a decade of change. In 1973 Congress passed the fair credit act and we began to see our future did not/ could not, depend on a man. It was a full decade before I decided to check on Roberta, too. A lot had changed for me. I was working in public relations at the local community college wearing power suits and was intent on changing the world (or Hancock County one has to start small) I was even contemplating making a run for the House of Delegates.
……..I didn’t even have to knock on the bunny hutch. Peter came hip hopping out the door with 7 bunnies in tow. He was spiffied up and on his way to a mall for a photo session, but first he had to drop the bunnies at daycare.
…….Right behind him came Roberta. Only, It wasn’t the Roberta I knew. It was the new and improved Roberta. I hardly recognized her. Her ears had been permed; her tail fluffed; and she was sporting a power suit with shoulder pads to die for. And the Easter Basket? It had been replaced by a brief case.
……..”Roberta, what happened? You’re a 1980’s bunny now.”
…….”Hop with me.” she said. “ I’m late and I can’t stop to talk. I attended a WOW (Wider Opportunities for Women) workshop at your community college and assessed my skills. I’m now a public relations executive and in addition to Peter I have contracts with the Tooth Fairy, Baby New Year, The Great Pumpkin with Charlie Brown on a retainer. Oh, and Mother Nature if I ever get her contract worked out. You know, you can’t fool Mother Nature.”
………..”What about, Peter?” I asked remembering the debonaire bunny.
………..”Him, I’m looking to franchise.”
………”But, what about all your responsibilities? The baby bunnies? “
……….”Daycare.”
………”The Bunny hutch?”
……….”Housekeeper.”
…….As she teetered down the hill on her three- inch heels, she turned and left me with one thought “I’ve got it all now. Problem is I have to hop as fast as I can to stay in one place.”
…….Didn’t we all. We bought into the myth that if we tried harder and worked faster we could handle home and work and still be self-fulfilled.
……….As I trudged down the hill, I felt sorry for Roberta. She was about to find out what we all knew. “That was a lie they told us. Yeah, we were women, but by the time we did it all, we were too exhausted to “roar”.
……… Roberta and I talked through the years. Like me she would retire and reflect upon how far we had come. But, things changed and not for the better.
………I saw Roberta yesterday and she was worried for her grandbunnies who had been taught their world was what they made it.”
……. “All we worked for and now we’re moving backward. Is it time to start marching again?”
……..”Maybe, Roberta. Just maybe.”
