An Easter Story

No hot cross buns? NO HOT CROSS BUNS ?
I stomped and the waiter at Daily Bread squirmed.
Today is Good Friday. Once a year, on one day, there are hot cross buns. And you say there are NO HOT CROSS BUNS ? I mean I wait 364 days a year for a day on which I’m fasting to eat these buns !
The waiter promised me he would get them, go to his HQ, go to the bakery, short of making his grand-mom bake them, he promised me everything. At 6 that evening, they would be ready.

At 6.05, I was at Daily Bread, with my 2 lil boys in tow.
No hot cross buns? AGAIN ? YOU PROMISED ME !!!
My voice rising like the tide, I unleashed a whole speech on my Easter season being ruined, and my little boys dying of disappointment (though they did a dismal job of being dead, since they were chasing each other around the trays of cakes, oblivious to their supposed disappointment.)

Suddenly, the waiter was called to another table, and came back with a huge box. It had 4 hot cross buns in it.
I thought you said there were none left? I hollered.
The waiter gestured at the table in the corner where a lady sat sipping coffee with her 11-year-old son. They ordered it, said the waiter, but they’re giving theirs to you. For your boys.

If Easter is about hope, and kindness and empathy, I think that lady gave her son a much stronger Easter lesson than I gave my boys that day.