I grew up in a very Catholic household. We went to church every Sunday- even when we were on vacation. My sister and I had to get up early on Holy Days to attend Mass before school. Friday nights during Lent you would find us at Stations of the Cross. (My sister and I thought it was a slow form of torture.)

    There is one time you would rarely find me in church. Easter Sunday. That’s right. I wasn’t there on Easter Sunday. It was my tradition to be sick on Easter (strep throat was my favorite). We have many pictures of my sister in her Easter dress and me lying on the couch. I thought I had broke the tradition. The last few years I have been healthy (although my family never fails to remind me I’m usually sick). As I lay here curled up on the couch with my box of tissues, watching my family color Easter eggs, I wonder if some traditions should be broken.

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