The Easter Grandfather Clock
written by: Emile B. LaCerte Jr.
Grandpa settles into his favorite plush chair, its well-worn cushions molding to his frame like an old friend. Vince, his wide-eyed grandson, approached with a book clutched in his tiny hands.
“Grandpa, can you read this book to me?” Vince asked, his voice filled with eager anticipation.
A gentle smile spread across Grandpa’s face. “Of course, my little prince,” he says, lifting the little boy onto his lap. He reached for the book and chuckled as he read the title aloud.
“Ah, Noam: The Wonder of the Easter Egg—one of my favorites,” he muses, flipping open the cover.
With a calming voice, he began. “It starts on a rainy spring morning. The rain has ceased now, and bright rays of sunlight stretch across the sky, pushing through lingering clouds. The light danced upon the remaining droplets, casting shimmering hues of slate gray, hints of purple, and whispers of blue.”
Vince’s eyes widened with amazement. He nestles deeper into his grandfather’s arms, drawn in by both the mesmerizing words and the warmth of this moment—one that feels like magic.
Grandpa continued, his tone shifting to match the character’s excitement. Vince’s eyes gleam, absorbing every word like sunlight on dewdrops.
“Read more, Grandpa!” Vince urges, eager to see what lies ahead.
Grandpa chuckles but keeps going, savoring the shared moment between grandfather and grandson. As the story neared its conclusion, his voice softened, carrying the message with warmth.
“Noam says, ‘Share God’s love. Pass it forward.’”
Grandpa closes the book with a satisfied nod, resting his hand on Vince’s back. “The End,” he proclaims with a smile, watching his grandson ponder the powerful words.
Vince sits in quiet thought, his young mind turning over the meaning of those final lines. Then, as if struck by inspiration, he beamed up at Grandpa.
“I’m going to pass it forward too, Grandpa,” he declares with pride.
Grandpa hugs him close, his heart swelling with pride. “That’s the best ending of all, my Vince.”
But here’s something even more curious—have you ever checked behind the couch or inside a bookshelf? I hear those are favorite bunny hideouts!
That’s a fun little secret! Easter Bunnies have a knack for finding the coziest hiding spots, and grandfather clocks make for the perfect snug little burrow. Some say that when the clock strikes midnight, you might even hear a soft rustling—could it be the bunny preparing his eggs for the morning surprise?
Vince jumps off his grandpa’s lap and races to the hallway grandfather clock. Grandpa chuckles as he watches Vince’s eager little hands press against the cool glass of the grandfather clock. The brass weights gleam in the dim hallway light, the pendulum swaying with a steady, rhythmic motion.
Vince leans in closer, his breath fogging up the glass as he whispers, “Noam, are you in there?”
Silence.
Then—a soft creak. Vince’s eyes widen. He glances back at Grandpa, who raises an eyebrow in playful amusement.
“Hmm,” Grandpa muses, stroking his chin. “Maybe Noam is waiting for just the right moment. He’s a clever bunny, you know. Likes to keep surprises, well… surprising.”
Vince steps back, tapping his fingers against his chin. “Maybe I need to check the bookshelf!” And just like that, he’s off again. The search for Noam is far from over.
Grandpa watches him go, the steady ticking of the clock behind him—perhaps hiding more than just time.
The next morning, Vince races downstairs to the grandfather clock. The morning light streams through the windows as Vince skids to a stop in front of the grandfather clock, his little chest pounding with excitement. Could Noam really be inside? His eyes lock onto the key resting just above the door handle—hoping that an adventure awaits.
“I think I’ll need some help,” he mutters to himself, standing on his tiptoes to reach for the key. But before he can try again, Grandpa’s voice calls from the kitchen.
“Vince, time for breakfast!”
For a moment, he hesitates—his curiosity battling his appetite. Then, with a knowing smile, he gives the glass a quick tap. “I’ll be back, Noam,” he whispers.
And with that, he races off to the kitchen, the warm smell of pancakes filling the air. The grandfather clock stands tall in the hallway, ticking steadily, keeping Vince’s secret safe until his sudden return.
As Grandpa finished his coffee, Vince emptied his toy box and pushed it in front of the grandfather clock, ‘Perfect’. Vince steadied himself atop the toy box, his tiny fingers curling around the cool metal key. He turned it with careful precision, hearing the soft click as the lock released.
The glass door swings open, revealing the brass pendulum’s steady, hypnotic sway. Vince peers inside, his breath coming in short bursts of excitement. He leaned in just a bit closer and whispered, “Are you in there? Easter Bunny? Noam?”
Silence. Then—a faint rustling.
Vince’s eyes widen. He glances back, half-expecting Grandpa to be watching, but the kitchen remains quiet. His heart thumped. Was Noam there, hiding just beyond sight? Or was it simply the whisper of time moving within the old clock’s frame?
He hesitated, fingers hovering near the edge. If Noam is real—if the Easter Bunny had truly chosen this clock as his secret hideaway—what would happen next?
Vince swallowed hard, his excitement bubbling over. He isn’t done searching yet.
As Vince looked down, his eyes caught a piece of paper resting on the bottom of the clock. Curious, he picked it up and examined the words written on it. He furrowed his brow in confusion—Grandpa would surely know what it means.
Without hesitation, he leaps to his feet and dashes toward the kitchen, clutching the paper tightly in his hand. Breathless, he hands it to Grandpa. “What does it say, Grandpa?”
Grandpa adjusted his glasses, peered at the paper, and read aloud, “With imagination, hope, and love, becomes reality.”
Puzzled, Vince tilted his head, “What does it mean, Grandpa? And where is the Easter Bunny hiding?”
Grandpa smiled warmly. “Well, Vince, I think the Easter Bunny is telling you that with faith, you can accomplish anything.”
“But where is the Easter Bunny?” Vince insists, scanning the room eagerly.
Holding the paper close, Vince slowly walked back to the hallway and sat down on a box. He glanced around, searching, waiting—but there was still no Easter Bunny.
Then, the old clock in the hallway began to chime—louder and more urgently than ever before. The sound echoed through the house, startling Vince so much that he tumbled off the box and onto the floor. He blinked in surprise, his heartbeat quickening.
As he looked up, his breath caught in his throat. Sitting atop the box is a beautiful rabbit—its fur shimmers softly, and its long ears glow with a warm, gentle light.
“Hi, Vince,” the rabbit said in a voice as light as a whisper but filled with warmth.
Vince’s eyes grow wide in astonishment. He scrambles to his feet, barely believing what he is seeing.
“Are you the Easter Bunny?” he asked breathlessly.
The rabbit nods, its glowing ears twitching playfully and its white cottontail bobbing up and down.
“Vince,” Noam declared, “you must uncover the old book hidden in Grandpa’s attic—one that speaks of an ancient Easter tradition lost to time.” With those words, Vince sets off on a quest to uncover the forgotten truth, racing toward the attic with determination.
As Vince rummaged through the attic, dust swirling in the air, his fingers brushed against the worn leather cover of an old book. He pulls it out and traces the faded gold lettering on its spine. The Forgotten Easter Chronicle. His heart beats faster—what secrets could it hold?
Carefully, he flipped through the brittle pages, and there, nestled between legends and illustrations, is a passage about an ancient Easter tradition—one lost to time. It spoke of a sacred ceremony where families gathered to color eggs. Vince turned to the Easter Bunny, who had hopped onto a nearby trunk, watching him with knowing eyes. “Is this true?” he inquires.
The Bunny nods. “It was a time when people came together to grow kindness, dreams, and love. But as years passed, the tradition faded.”
Vince’s mind raced. “We have to bring it back this hallowed tradition!”
With a swift tap of his foot, Noam transported Vince to the mystical realm of Moriah Hallow—a land bathed in golden light, where whispers of old folktales mingle with the rustling leaves. Noam, ever watchful, guides Vince forward, promising that within the heart of nature lies a faith long lost yet patiently waiting to be rediscovered and relived again and again.
Their path weaves through towering trees, where time itself seems frozen. Soon, the first guardian appeared: an ancient owl perched high upon an oak. With eyes that gleamed like polished amber, the owl spoke in a measured tone, teaching Vince the virtue of patience—that faith is not found in haste but in quiet moments of understanding.
Farther along, a lively squirrel scurries toward them, its tiny paws offering a bundle of gathered nuts. It reminded Vince that belief flourishes in generosity; that by sharing—though kindness, wisdom, or simple joys—one strengthens the bonds that hold communities together.
In the heart of Moriah Hollow, where a river shimmers under silver moonlight, they met the gentle deer. It moved with grace, its presence a quiet reassurance. The deer spoke of hope—that it, too, like the changing seasons, must be nurtured. With time, even the most fragile dreams bloom into unshakable love and faith.
As Vince journeys deeper into Moriah Hallow, each lesson settles within his heart like a seed ready to grow into a beautiful flower. He had come searching for faith, but perhaps it had never truly been lost—only waiting to be embraced again and again.
Noam taps his foot, returning them to the attic.
Racing down the stairs from the attic, Vince shouted, “Grandpa! Grandpa! I found the Easter Bunny! Come see—he was hiding in the grandfather clock!”
Grandpa jolts upright, his curiosity piqued, and hurries to the hallway. He glances around, scanning the space carefully.
“Vince, I don’t see any bunny,” Grandpa says, his brow furrowing.
Vince spins around, eyes darting across the room. The box, the clock, the hallway—it is empty.
“But—he was here! I did see him, Grandpa, I really did!” Vince insisted, gripping the old paper in his hands.
Grandpa gave a knowing smile and placed a gentle hand on Vince’s shoulder. “Sometimes, the most magical things appear only when we truly believe,” he said.
Vince stared at the grandfather clock, his heart racing. Had he imagined it? Or had the Easter Bunny simply vanished—leaving behind only a message, and a mystery?
Vince stands in the hallway, the air thick with the weight of memory. Noam is gone, his presence a whisper of something beyond the present, something magical. But Vince wasn’t lost—he had found something of his own.
Clutching the worn storybook he discovered in the attic, he turns toward the kitchen, where Grandpa stood by the sink, his hands resting heavily on the counter. Vince hesitates for a moment, then steps forward.
“Grandpa,” he said, his voice soft but certain. “I found a book. A storybook with pictures of Mom.”
Grandpa turns slowly, his eyes flickering with recognition and something else—something tender yet aching. Vince opens the book carefully, revealing pages filled with faded photographs and hand-drawn sketches. Among them, his mother and Auntie JoAnn, laughing as they colored Easter eggs, their hands stained with deep blues, fiery reds, and golden yellows.
“I remember,” Vince murmurs, his fingers tracing a photograph. “Mom loved coloring Easter eggs. Every Easter, she would gather Auntie JoAnn and all their friends. The house was also filled with joy and laughter.”
Grandpa smiled faintly, the lines of his face deepening with remembrance. “Yes,” he whispered. “She called them Pisanki Eggs. Said they were special.”
Vince nods. “Pisanki,” he says, the word rolling off his tongue like a forgotten melody. “They were beautiful. They told stories in color.”
A silence settled between them, heavy yet comforting. Vince swallowed, then asked, “Grandpa, can we color eggs this Easter?”
Grandpa hesitates, his gaze lowering, his breath uneven. When he finally spoke, his voice carried an old sadness, one that had lingered for too long. “Maybe,” he said softly. “Maybe.”
Then, with a quiet sigh, he turned back to the kitchen, his movements slow, thoughtful.
Vince remained standing, the book still open, the echoes of past Easters swirling in his mind. He wasn’t sure what Grandpa meant—whether his “Maybe” was an answer or a wish—but deep down, Vince felt something stirring.
Hope.
Maybe, just maybe, it wasn’t about recreating what was lost. Maybe it was about honoring it. Keeping it alive.
And perhaps, this Easter, they would color Pisanki Eggs once more.
During Holy Week, Vince watches as his grandfather carefully opens the great-grandfather clock. The old wood creaks, releasing a scent of time itself—a mixture of dust and distant memories. With slow, practiced movements, Grandpa searched for the winding key, nestled deep within the cabinet. He cranks the weights up, his hands steady despite their years.
With a tic and a tock, the pendulum began its song, swinging back and forth in perfect rhythm. The steady motion filled the house, marking time like the heartbeat of something ancient and unyielding.
Vince stands beside him, his small fingers resting lightly against the edge of the clock. His voice came softer, filled with childlike wonder.
“Grandpa, have you seen the Easter Bunny?”
Grandpa chuckles, his lips curling into a smile as he peers inside the wooden depths. “Sorry, Vince,” he said, tapping the side of the clock. “No Easter Bunny hiding in here.”
Vince groans, though a hint of curiosity still dances in his eyes. Taking his grandfather’s hand in his own, he leads him away from the ticking of time and toward the familiar comforts of the living room.
“Come on, Grandpa,” Vince said. “Sit in your favorite chair. It’s time for your favorite game!”
Grandpa settled into his well-worn armchair with a sigh, his body sinking into the familiar embrace of the cushions. Vince curls up beside him. The warmth of his grandfather’s presence wrapped around him like a blanket.
As the baseball game flickered onto the television, Vince rested his chin in his hands, eyes bright with quiet anticipation. He glanced toward the window, where the spring sunlight poured in, soft and golden.
“The Easter Bunny will be back,” he whispers, more to himself than to Grandpa.
And somehow, sitting there in that moment, surrounded by ticking clocks, sports games, and whispered promises, Vince knew that Easter—like the stories and traditions passed down through time—would always find its way back.
The grandfather clock chimes, its song echoing through the quiet house, telling a story only time could whisper. Vince and Grandpa sat side by side, the familiar rhythm of the pendulum filling the space between them.
But unbeknownst to them, tucked beside the great wooden clock—hidden in its shadow, waiting patiently—was a large Easter basket. Wrapped in soft ribbons and tucked between colorful shreds of paper, it overflowed with treasures from Moriah Hallow.
Golden honey cakes, spun sugar treats shaped like woodland creatures, and chocolates molded to resemble the guardians of the enchanted land. And nestled at the very center, cradled with care, lay the Pisanki eggs—each carefully painted, each telling a tale of faith, tradition, and love.
Outside, the wind stirs the trees, carrying the scent of spring through the open window. Vince leaned against Grandpa’s arm, his eyes heavy but his heart light.
“Easter feels different this year,” Vince murmured softly.
Grandpa sighed; his gaze softened by memory. “Different—but still special.”
The grandfather clock ticks on, marking the moment in its own way, as if sealing the magic in time.
And just as Vince’s eyelids began to flutter closed, a quiet rustle brushed through the room. A fleeting shimmer—barely there, barely seen.
Perhaps it was just the light playing tricks.
Or maybe, just maybe, Noam the Easter Bunny had truly returned, leaving Vince, grandpa’s little prince, a magical gift.
- The Easter Grandfather Clock - April 5, 2026
- St Patrick Meet Noam - March 17, 2026
- Christmas Hymn - December 17, 2025
