The mischievous lagomorph

Happy Easter, everyone! I have to admit, I wasn't raised as a Christian and I really don't understand the whole passion of the Christ and resurrection thing. But I have a lot of great memories of Easter. To me, Easter is a time of bunnies, candy, baskets of gifts, and searching for colorful eggs. It's a time to get dressed up and go to restaurants that serve overpriced buffet meals that cater to groups of 40 or more. I miss seeing grandma and cousins and aunts and uncles, all dressed in the Sunday finest, chowing down on ham and turkey and fruit salad.

One Easter, I think I was about seven years old, my siblings and I woke up to our overstuffed Easter baskets and commenced the search for our Easter eggs throughout the house. I, being the youngest, was still under the impression that a giant rabbit came to our house, delivered serious candy booty, and hid all of these eggs. My older sister and brothers kept up the ruse for my entertainment.

We had searched and searched and found all but one egg. We had the eggs memorized from having dyed them the night before. The deal was, the game wasn't over until you found all of the eggs. (I'm sure Mom didn't want some hard-boiled egg rotting in her house for weeks on end.) We finally became desperate and Mom suggested that we wake up Dad to ask him where that last egg might be. Turns out Dad had, you know, I-spyed the Easter bunny doing his thing. (This may have been the point in time when I was made aware of the fact that there was no Easter bunny. Thankfully, I've repressed that memory sufficiently and still like to believe there are Easter bunnies hopping around all night leaving gifts and making mischief.)

It turns out that the last egg required a stepladder to get to -- Dad had hid it inside the light fixture in the foyer at the front of the house. I'm not quite sure what he was thinking with that move -- none of us were tall enough to reach it, and who the hell looks in the light fixtures for hard-boiled eggs? But I'm sure he had fun hiding those eggs.

And to me, that is what Easter is all about. Hiding eggs in impossible places so children could never find or reach them. Days later, when everyone is choking on the smell of rotting eggs, we can all have a good laugh.