Is This an Egg Hunt or Is This War?

  

    It's Easter. It's the time of the year we grown ups hide colorful eggs in the yard and let our children run wildly within the confines of that yard looking for them. While they run screaming, squealing, squawking, searching desperately in every nook and cranny, beneath every rock, and under every pile of leaves, we sit back happily watching. We coo and caw over their apparent cuteness as they clumsily fumble around. We muse at their ability or inability to discover our clever hiding places, laughing at the lovely little game we've devised for the children's entertainment. To us grownups, this is a lovely game. To the children, this means war.

     In their minds, this business is serious. The Gamemakers, a.k.a the grown ups, have no idea what this "lovely game" really means! It's every kid for himself out there. It's dangerous. It's terrifying. It's a battle. It's kid against kid fighting "to the death" for colorful eggs full of candy! Victory is sweet...literally.

    I was kid once. I survived the game. I got my picture taken with the giant Easter Bunny to prove it. The reporter who took it even put that picture in the newspaper, as if further proving my "victor" status. The shell shocked look on my face made it look like I was just frightened by the giant walking bunny with it's arm around my shoulder and leery of the stranger with the fancy camera. No, that's what a grown up would think. The shell shocked look on my eight year old face was the look of a warrior exhausted from battle. A game? Pffft!  Grown up!

    I remember that egg hunt. Every Easter, I have flash backs. They held us back behind a line while they counted down.

"Ten, Nine, Eight..."  We wielded our weapons, the friendly colored basket.

"Seven, Six, Five..."      Wide-eyed with anticipation, I surveyed our opponents. Fat Boy. I can out run him. Smiling Girl...probably an egg stealer. Crazy Jumping Kid.....drop an egg, he'll smash it and eat the candy. Little Brother...don't lose him!

"Four, Three, Two..."     final check. Little Brother...check Easter Egg Basket....check. shoes              tied....maybe.

"One...."                  Deep breath. poke Little Brother to attention. Focus

GO!!!!!

Then it began. kids were everywhere grabbing eggs, running, screaming, squealing. Chaos, it was chaos everywhere.

Kids are vicious. Egg stealers run up to little kids with full baskets and swipe their eggs. Veterans know to never leave their basket unmanned. We moved quick, but we lost a few eggs. A bully tripped my brother and made him spill his basket. Then the pack descended upon the spoil. We salvaged what we could and got away. We managed to find some loot under a pile of grass, but we had to move fast. The inexperienced, the lazy, and the opportunist hunters wait for the assertive ones to find a spoil. Then, like vultures they come crashing in. Crash they did, but not before we filled our baskets and our hands. Some greedy kids, once their baskets filled, stuffed their clothes with the stuff. Not us. We got what we came for. We wanted out.

Baskets full, we literally ran to mommy. Her smiling face, her presence, the general vicinity of our baby sister's stroller signified safety, victory, survival.