Easter

Easter of old conjures up images of early childhood development. Mom always said “eggs are the time for Easter and Easter is the time for eggs”. We just accepted that without question, after all, we always got Easter baskets with candy eggs nested in lovely faux grass. The song still rings in my head; “Here comes Peter Cottontail, hoppin’ down the bunny trail”. Oh, the time we had as kids. Easter egg hunts in the Northport Park, finding them around the bandstand, in the bushes, under the bushes and in the grass. It was a day we looked forward to every year. The Easter basket routine continued in our family well into our teens, with voluminous amounts of candy which I’m sure helped keep our local dentist, Dr. Lazarus in business.

But why are eggs connected to Easter, the religious observance considered by many to be the celebration of Jesus Christ, resurrected from the dead. It’s a question that has consumed a lifetime of contemplation; after all, if Mom & Dad sanctioned it, surely it must be valid. Or maybe not. A little research on Google leads me to understand that eggs are a symbol of fertility and therefore symbolize the resurrection of Jesus Christ. And bunnies, everyone knows are a huge symbol of fertility. I guess if you stretch your imagination far enough, you can connect anything to anything.

I’m now considering the evolution of rhetoric. When someone doesn’t want to acknowledge another’s point of view, they deflect with shielded statements of rhetoric. A popular retort is “that’s fake news”. As I remember, when my uncle no longer wanted to hear my thoughts, he said “eat your eggs, Julius”. In other words, “end of conversation”. When my father was unconvinced by my presentation he said “what’s that got to do with the price of eggs?” As a child, when my older brother goaded me, my parents said “stop egging him on”. Highly intelligent people were said to be “eggheads”. A well-respected person was a “good egg”. A pattern seems to be forming here. Consider that eggs have less to do with Easter and more to do with the fascination of eggs. That being said, I am left with the question of why. This may well be one of the great unsolved mysteries of the universe.

One of my mother’s favorite limericks goes: Willie died at the breakfast table from eating more than he was able. Up spoke his sister, Meg….may I have his other egg? Let me know when you solve this one! Happy Easter.