Easter morning is underrated. Often this day is overshadowed by Christmas morning, with the iconic image of presents under the tree and family gathered around it. Now, don't get me wrong, I love Christmas, but Easter morning holds a special place in my heart as I come home for spring break and the holidays.
Easter baskets filled with candy, hidden eggs; it is a child's dream come true to be able to eat a basket of candy for breakfast. Let's be honest, even though I am twenty, I still expect to have an Easter basket hidden by the "Easter Bunny" for me on Sunday morning. Here's hoping for some Reese's eggs and Peeps to tide me over until after finals week.
This tradition of searching for the hidden basket has been a constant throughout my life. As my siblings and I would wake up bleary-eyed early in the morning, my dad would begin his song/ chant "Hunt, hunt, hunt for the Easter basket" as we searched our household for our prizes. He would add to this song if we were hot or cold when looking for the baskets, helping us along as we went. The baskets were found often in the most unorthodox of places. I found one hidden in our dryer, while another was within a coat in our closet.
Each year brings a new challenge, but the prize is always the same, chocolate from my hometown. With several chocolatiers in town competing for Easter sales, Romolos Chocolates, as a family favorite, usually prevails. This is one of the only times where it is socially acceptable to bite a head off of a (chocolate) rabbit in public, and of course I take full advantage of the opportunity to eat chocolate all day on Easter.
After the baskets comes the egg hunt with extended family, often becoming highly competitive as we search out eggs in hopes of finding the dollar ones. These eggs, without change or candy but with cash, are highly sought after. As all of my cousins and I grow up, each year brings us closer to the end of the egg hunt as we are considered adults. Now there isn't anything wrong with growing up, but watching home videos of or excitement in our hunting makes me nostalgic. I miss the simple things in life, like pushing cousins into the dirt in order to snatch away an egg from their grasps.
All jokes aside, the childhood thrills and traditions are what make Easter Sunday memorable within my family. It is not necessarily the material goods, or candies, but the nostalgia of those times in which my family got together, dressed up, and bonded over traditions. Though we are all older I hope this Easter Sunday offers memories I can look back on until I am leading my own children in an egg and basket hunt, singing a familiar song.