The Golden Egg
Generations of us carry lessons learned from the tradition of hunting Easter eggs.
Photo by Sybil or Norvell Holveck, sometime in the 1980s
For several years when the kids were little, we were drowning in egg hunts. There were egg hunts at the kids’ schools (no candy allowed). There was an egg hunt at church (complete chaos). And every few years, there would be bonus egg hunts with friends in the neighborhood.
I have to admit, I am not sorry that my egg hunt parenting days are over. Stuffing small items into plastic eggs at midnight was, let’s face it, exhausting.
When my daughter was 5, we hid Easter eggs in my parents’ backyard for the cousins to find after their Easter ham was eaten. Mostly the eggs held candy — chocolate or jelly beans. Some of the eggs had toys or coins, and a few had dollar bills. But the coveted, most special, most fabulous egg of all was the golden egg with a ten-dollar bill in it.
This particular year, my niece found the golden egg. Because my daughter was, well, 5, she was unable to contain her disappointment at not finding the golden egg. She sobbed on the backyard deck, full of grief, real tears running down her cheeks.
Her grandmother told me then how each grandchild should get a golden egg, how it wasn’t fair that my daughter didn’t get one. Like only a grandchild’s tears can do, my mom’s heartstrings were pulled.
My husband, on the other hand, had different advice for his grieving daughter, which basically was, “You didn’t get it this year. Better luck next year!”
Like a lot of lessons in my kids’ lives, this was a hard pill to swallow for my daughter. But that lesson from her dad and the egg hunt, in hindsight, has helped her many times through the years. Sometimes life doesn’t go your way. Better luck next time.
Thinking of this story today made me think back on the lessons from my own Easter egg hunts in the 80s. We didn’t have family in my hometown of San Angelo, but we had what we called The Family Group.
The Family Group was just what it sounds like — a few families that spent holidays and celebrations together. Friends that were family. The parents supported each other in adulting and parenting, and we rag-tag group of kids supported each other in growing up.
One of the annual events we had was a meal and egg hunt on Easter. I know anytime the Family Group egg hunt comes up, my sister complains about the two oldest boys who reached all the eggs before anyone else could. Here’s looking at you, Darrell and Brad.
The lesson? Sometimes in life the winners are simply those who get there first.
I reached out to some of the other now-adults to see what they remembered, and the answers took me back. One lifelong friend remembered lining up at the door, youngest to oldest.
Sometimes you’ve just got to wait your turn.
A younger friend remembers being glad that the little kids got to go out first so she could at least get the easy eggs. My sister remembers that being the oldest sucked, as she was last out the door for the hunt.
My younger friend described that awkward in-between stage of being older than a child but younger than the surly teens. She says she was excited about getting the candy but didn’t want to act too excited externally so “Becca didn’t think I was a little kid.”
Sometimes you don’t feel like you can be yourself.
A friend also remembered the tweens and teens lounging around the living room after the hunt, the childlike excitement of an egg’s contents not that exciting anymore.
The wonder years don’t last forever.
Another remembered the moms looking relaxed, standing by the line of Suburbans on the curb, taking a break. Now that I’m the mom, I know they were exhausted from making Easter happen.
Being a parent is hard work.
Sometimes the shiniest, prettiest egg holds a candy you don’t like.
Sometimes the chocolate you find is melted.
Sometimes you miss an egg that is right in front of your eyes.
The lessons of the egg hunt went on and on. We all remembered the menus. The jello jigglers and “Hoppy Easter” desserts. The blueberry jello salad and strawberry pie. The twice-baked potatoes.
As we reminisced on our text thread, I realized that all of the lessons of egg hunts have stayed with us for 40 years now, just as my daughter’s golden-egg lesson was internalized within her that Spring when she was 5.
But what has stayed with us more than the lessons is a sense of family, of friends, of growing up together. Golden egg or not, what matters most is that we had each other. And that’s what still matters today.
The advice and opinions herein are by no means meant to be a substitute for professional medical advice. Please contact your personal physician, mental health provider or health care professional for medical advice. Opinions are my own.