Cryptic Tailgate of the Mourners, 35th Day of Spring, 526 M.E. (Helios):  Easter. The son has died and now the father can be born. 

All the right-wing pundits and agitators who keep screaming about an alleged "War on Christmas" don't seem to imagine a war on Easter, although from what I see, Easter is much less celebrated than Christmas, even though it seems like it's the more foundational Christian holiday. Virgin-birth mythology aside, the extraordinary thing about Jesus wasn't his birth but his supposed resurrection, but they seem willing to let observation of the latter slide while getting quite defensive if you're not as enthusiastic about the former as they deem appropriate. The cynic in me wonders if the reason isn't theological but monetary - it's harder to capitalize on Easter than Christmas.

As a child, Christmas was the greatest holiday of the year. My parents generously lavished their children with gifts and it was our major annual acquisition event. Christmas was when we got the toys to last us for the next year and clothes for the rest of the winter and hopefully the spring. Our material status rose or fell based on our haul on Christmas morning.  

Easter, on the other hand, had candy, which was cool, but it also had hard-boiled eggs which were kind of gross, and it also meant dressing up in uncomfortable clothes and sitting through a particularly crowded and stuffy church service. It also meant a blood-sugar crash sometime later in the day, and a realization that jelly beans and Peeps were our least favorite candies. Confection-wise, Easter couldn't hold a candle to Halloween.

Christmas smelled like evergreens and pies. Easter smelled like the vinegar used to dye the eggs. Also, pictures at Sears with the Easter Bunny were far more terrifying than pictures with Santa. 

Christmas was joyous and celebratory. Easter was something to be endured.