Hunting Easter Eggs in the 50’s: A Confession

 

My list of special Easter  memories

is as vivid and sharp as if it were yesterday:


* the sharp smell of vinegar when dying eggs

*my new Toni home perm

* a white stiff, crunchy feeling Easter hat

*white ruffled socks and my Spring dress shoes

*Mamaw’s (my maternal grandmother’s) lush carpet grass in her backyard on Alice Street in Kingsville

* the blue plumbago blossoms I liked to stick to my ears as earrings

*my mother’s sewing machine whirring while she made us new dresses

and

*the dilemma I faced as a little girl hunting Easter eggs.

(my worried expression tells it all)

What dilemma might that have been?


I wanted to win… to find my share of the eggs,

while appearing otherwise.

I wanted to run fast with my petticoat bouncing and my shoes pinching.


I wanted to beat my cousins to every single egg, without seeming like I wanted to.

I wanted to demonstrate the importance of ‘sharing’

while grabbing with the best of them.


I wanted to show that I had learned that

‘company goes first ‘ lesson I was taught,

while winning it all.

And then Mamaw and Papaw would shout “GO!”,

and I forgot about it all.

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