Hiding Easter eggs (an Easter confession)

 
When I was growing up my mama made a big deal about the joy of hiding Easter eggs on Easter morning before we went to church, dressed in our Easter best, the girls in their new dresses and socks and the boys in our little Easter suits. In 1953 or 54 we had moved to our new house that my daddy and one carpenter pretty much built themselves.  Daddy had wanted more space and had been feeling crowded with neighbors on each side of us out in Tioga. Our new place was way out on Jackson Extension just past old man Peterman’s place, outside of Alexandria, Louisiana. We thought it’d be cool to get to know that old man, but all we ever saw was him sitting behind his mule all day plowing his field.  He was a mysterious man who never waved or spoke to any of us children.  We were a little afraid of him in fact, and made-up stories about him. Stories like he lived in a haunted house since it sat away from the road and the bare boards were well weathered.  There were never any lights on at night either.  We dared each other to stand on his porch for one minute in the middle of the night but were too afraid to ever try it. Daddy said he was just a lonely man who never married and lived with his sister.  We should leave him alone.  We did.

 There was a small farm on the right and a house on the left, next to old man Peterman’s place, separated by our pasture lane, but that didn’t seem to bother daddy since the yards were huge.   Our farm went from Jackson Street all the way back to Prescott Road.  We had plenty of space to roam as free-range children exploring the woods further back or roaming in daddy’s corn and cotton fields.  We seldom came home until dark and even then, played in the expansive front yard till bedtime catching lightening bugs.   

 On that Saturday before Easter 1953, Mama spent all Saturday carefully boiling and dying eggs for us to hide on Easter morning.  I was nine and in the fourth grade.  I was really feeling like this was not something I wanted to participate in anymore and protested that this was something for little kids.  I’d rather go ride my horse, I complained. Becky didn’t want a thing to do with it either.

 Mama put the guilt trip on us that Saturday night, letting us know how we really hurt her feelings since she had spent all day carefully boiling and dying eggs.  Mama loved giving guilt trips.  She went on and on about all the things she could have been doing; things that really needed to be taken care of, but she chose, instead, to gather the eggs, boil them, let them cool and then dye each of them one by one.  She told us how hot it was in the kitchen as she worked over the hot stove and that she also had to fix supper for six people, as well as put up the evening milk from our cows.

 Becky asked why she didn’t let us do the dying only to be told she didn’t have time to supervise us since she had so much work to do.  We needed to keep out of her hair. She told Becky how messy it would have been if we had done it because our younger brother and sister would have wanted to dye eggs too and they were too young, and she couldn’t handle all four of us and keep her sanity.

 Sunday morning after she took care of the morning milk from the cows, Mama said we had better hurry and hide the eggs for our brother and sister.  We complained. The guilt trip returned as she informed Becky and me that we were being bad examples for our siblings.  Bobby was five and Jane three.  We had no choice but to participate. Something that didn’t set well with either one of us since Becky was not an early morning person and a grouch.   I was, but I didn’t want to be that day.  I got on my sister’s nerves by constantly talking and teasing her as we tried to hide the eggs among the three hundred or so camellia bushes around the back yard.  We ended up yelling and screaming at each other and some of the eggs got thrown.

 Mama was fit to be tied. Trying to corral us from killing each other while keeping the little ones inside and making breakfast for daddy and bringing it to his bed with his coffee made her a nervous wreck.  Of course, she had to still make sure we had our Easter outfits ready.  Daddy wasn’t any help.  He just stayed in bed reading the morning paper and eating his breakfast.

 I was mad enough about hiding the eggs that I went and stuck one of the eggs in Mama’s Buick exhaust vents on the side of her car.  I didn’t put it all the way in, just jammed enough to stay stuck, hoping Bobby would ever find it.

 When it was time for Bobby and Jane to find the eggs, Becky took charge of Jane, and I, Bobby.

After he filled his basket, I was bored and angry, so I let him know where the eggs were that I hid, especially where that one egg was, that I was proud of hiding.  I no longer cared and wanted to hurry up and be finished.   

 While he was trying to unstick the egg, he shoved it further into the vent so that it could not be retrieved.  I was afraid to say anything.  Besides, since no one could see it, they’d never know.

 Meanwhile, Mama was yelling for us to get in the house, eat our breakfast, and get dressed for Sunday school and church.  We obeyed after the third or fourth call to get inside, and I kept my mouth shut.

 Going to church that Easter morning was like herding buffalo through a China shop, but we made it in time for frazzled Mama to teach her Sunday school class and Daddy to greet at the door.  I suppose we looked decent in our Easter outfits, but Mama failed to take a picture.

A week later, Mama started smelling something funny when she drove her car. Each day it seemed to smell worse.  It started to smell like sulfur. When she couldn’t stand the stink any longer, she took it to the garage where the mechanic discovered the rotten egg stuck in the exhaust on the side of the car.  It took a great deal of work for them to remove the egg and clean the car.  I felt very guilty and confessed to Mama that I had put the egg there, but Bobby was the one that shoved it all the way in.  The car kept that sulfur smell for quite a while after that and I was grounded until the smell went away.

NOTE:  The next Sunday, I went down during the invitation and made my profession of faith.  

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