No matter how hard I try, I can't remember one single significant story to tell about family Easters. The reason? Because they weren't (by definition) significant. Year after year, there were no surprises, just simple sameness.
We went to church and celebrated our risen Savior. Most of the time we hunted Easter eggs after church with the church folks and then we were off to my grandparents' house for Easter dinner. Granny was in the kitchen in her housecoat by the time we got there. Papa was lost in whatever he was doing in his bedroom.
While Granny cooked, my cousins and I would dye eggs with food coloring that Granny put in coffee mugs for us. As a child, it seemed to take forever to get those eggs just the right color, and it took even longer for Granny to get finished with dinner. The house filled with aunts, uncles and cousins. Granny was never rattled by how many people came or how anxious we were to eat. She made us wait until she got the food just the way she wanted it.
Once Papa blessed the food, we made a line for the buffet. Ham, macaroni and cheese, potato salad, bread, vegetables, chocolate cake, cheesecake, banana pudding....on and on. There were so many of us that we had to sit scattered throughout the house. Even though I sat two rooms away from the dining room sometimes, I could always hear the uproarious laughter from my aunts and uncles. We talked and laughed and ate...boy did we eat. And to me, Easter was always Granny's best meal.
After lunch, someone would hide the eggs for us and we'd set out on a hunt in Granny and Papa's giant backyard. Sometimes we'd find all the eggs and hide them again and again. When we got tired of hiding and hunting we'd bring them in, crack the shell, slice, salt and eat. Later, we would disburse to the front porch, back porch, living room, bedroom or to the backyard swing. We'd meet up again for late afternoon dessert and then again for supper.
This is how it was every single year for as long as I can remember. There was nothing special about it. It was the same. And yet, the sameness of it all is why it became so significant. It was our constant. It was our reminder that some things like Granny's cooking or Papa's smile never changed.
I truly hope that one day my sons can look back and have some same ol', same ol' memories of their own. I hope they can recall fantastic meals, beautiful blessings, laughter and the love of family. Because after all, that's the kind of insignificant significance that helps make us all who we are.
