The Hunt.
When I read about the Easter Egg Hunt in our town, I dismissed the idea right away. I imagined a crowd of kids with their various baskets, all vying for a few dozen eggs with unnecessary plastic items inside. I feared empty baskets or frowns of disappointment on my boys as bigger, faster, and more hunt-seasoned kids snatched up all the eggs. I was content with how we celebrated in years prior: our own private egg hunt in our backyard that we awoke to each Easter morning. There was no mad rush for the eggs, and we could savor where each one was waiting to be discovered.
But then I read about the lone golden egg. One golden egg will contain a family season pass to the town's wonderful water park. On second thought, hmm...let me rethink this.
"Lloyd, how does and Easter Egg hunt for the boys tomorrow sound?" "I don't know anything about it," he replied.
After all, I reasoned, how could I deny my boys the opportunity to experience good ol'American competition on one of our holiest holidays. Bring on tales of the resurrection and eternal life with a little dose of Darwinism: may the fittest, fastest egg searcher reap the most plastic in the basket.
"Now guys, " I prepped them, "make sure you keep your eyes out for a special, golden egg."
We arrived at the site of the hunt early, hoping to burn off some pre-hunt energy on the playground before the festivities got under way. Maybe some bending calisthenics and finger stretches to warm our guys up. You know, get a leg up on the other three-year-olds. Instead, our boys wanted to join in behind the yellow line of crime scene tape to wait for Mr. Bunny. Only on the North Shore do 6' bunnies arrive via helicopter. I knew this was over-the-top, but the hope of spying that lone golden egg kept me focused in the present.
When the hunt finally got under way, it was exactly the scene I had imagined. Hundreds of eggs disappeared in only a few minutes. As my Liam would stand over an egg, slowly leaning down, another little hand would come in from the right and snatch it.
"You gotta go for it," I found myself instructing him after the fifth or sixth surprise grab took place. I couldn't believe that I was coaching him on his first egg hunt...those were words I thought I'd be using for a different kind of first--say, the opening of his first money market. But an Easter hunt? Oy vey!
But all's well that ends...well, cracked.
We huddled under a tree, cracking open the plastic eggs that they
did manage to retrieve. We admired the glorious contents: a black spider ring, bunny rabbit tattoos, spinning tops, and a blue shark. The boys were thrilled. I was nearly in tears at the flash thought of how far I had strayed from my
Waldorf roots: We should be at home sewing wool bunnies, fairies, and large mushrooms!
I brought my giganmo telephoto that seemed to scare other little kids by its slight resemblance to a crocodile coming at them. So this is the one photo of the hunt that we have:
Lessons learned:
1. Avoid drinking a "decaf venti extra-hot latte" while a four-pound telephoto dangles from your neck, nearly taking out random children as you turn left, then right to follow your six-year-old on a mission to amass pastel-colored-plastic eggs...you have zero chances of finding the coveted golden egg in this amateur approach.
2. Along with the staycation, go ahead and keep those stayegghunt plans.
3. Try to emulate the wisdom of your lad when at the end of the day he plainly states, "Mom, that really wasn't much of a Hunt. That was more like a Rush."
4. Burn the midnight Easter Eve oil planting ye own pastel-colored-plastic huevos in the backyard to recreate your original intention.
5. Next year, give up plastic for Lent.
