 |
| www.somersworth.com |
This time next week, those of us who survived will be
cleaning up the fur, blood and chocolate left over from Easter morning. We will
remember those we lost and dread their reincarnation as a blood thirsty rabbit
and the vengeful return they will make next year. But why focus on the dark and
horrifying Easter traditions when there are so many good parts?
One of
the best Easter traditions is the Easter Egg Hunt. A bunch of brightly colored
plastic eggs, filled with candy and then scattered around an expansive field
for children to scurry around and find. It’s magical. It was also the scene of
most of my greatest competitive triumphs.
As a
child, I was – and I’m not bragging when I say this – no worse than the second
greatest egg-hunter of my generation. Much like the Williams sisters in tennis,
my younger sister and I spent years jockeying between first and second in the
rankings. One of us was always at the top of every nationally-recognized and respected
egg-hunting poll. Our names are still said in hushed whispers in churches and YMCAs
around the greater Roxborough, PA area as spring dawns, for fear we may return
like the souls of rabbit-ravaged loved ones.
