So my parents (usually my mother) will occasionally get on a "We should go to church!" kick and beg my older brother and I to go to Easter or Christmas mass. When we were younger, we'd just have to go. One such occasion was for Easter when I was 16. We went to a church that they'd never been to before that is relatively close to my house. After a fairly normal sermon, the minister asked all of the children to come up to the front for an Easter story. So all of these little kids in their pastel outfits smiling with their new bunny stuffed animals all sit on the floor at her feet. She, in a cheerful voice, starts to tell a story about a happy bunny who was beautiful and brave. But then winter came and the bunny froze to death. I think the story was heading to the bunny's resurrection but we'll never know because all hell broke loose. Like wailing, screaming, crying children all in hysterics. I remember a kid just lying on the floor screaming, "BUT MOMMY WHY DID THE BUNNY HAVE TO DIIIEEEEEE." While the alarmed and flustered minister and parents tried to calm the throng of traumatized children, my parents and I scooted out. And I always bring it up around Easter or any "Let's go to church!" moment.