Ode to the Stale Easter Eggs: A Family Tradition

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“Get away from the windows you cheaters!”

This was something that was said every year in my childhood. We just wanted to take a peek, to see where those eggs were hidden. Even if it would provide us no real advantage once the chaos began. That never stopped us from trying though, year after year.

I come from a large family. Not an “oh, I have five cousins” large; a “we have to rent a hall for Thanksgiving” large. We don’t see each other as often as we’d like, but twice a year we manage to bring (almost) everyone together to catch up and enjoy our big loud family. Easter is coming up and as a parent, it makes me happy to see my daughters get to share in the same traditions I was a part of all those years ago.

The Easter egg hunt was a true sight to see. Gaggles of children ranging from tiny toddlers to brooding teenagers all lined up according to age waiting impatiently for their chance at a few 30-year-old candy eggs. Those eggs! I have many memories of my Nana, but none more prominent than those disgusting marshmallow eggs; some still wrapped in their plastic. These eggs were for hunting purposes only. If you dared to bite one you’d surely lose a tooth or five. This fact did not stop us from daring a younger unsuspecting cousin from trying one; just like we had been dared to do years before — our own gang initiation if you will.

The hunt itself was a true full contact sport. If it didn’t end with someone in tears, it almost felt incomplete. The uncles took it upon themselves to hide the eggs in the most obscure places, including but not limited to a leaf pile, the trash can, or on the tires of cars. Climbing and shoving was a given, tripping and pushing was the norm.  These are moments I will always look back on and smile.

We’re grown now, and some of us have children of our own, but the tradition continues. The children line up by age with bags and baskets at the ready. The uncles who once hunted themselves now get to hide the eggs in the worst possible places. There is still shoving, pushing and tears; but there are also smiles, giggles, and bonds being formed by yet another generation of cousins.

Someday, in the not so distant future, these gatherings will end and we won’t see nearly as much of each other as we’d all like. But we’ll always have our memories of Nana watching us from the stairs and now our parents watching our children run and play, and while my children may not get to experience the joys of the stale Easter eggs firsthand, I will happily share my memories with them in hopes that someday they’ll do the same with the next generation.

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