The True Spirit of Easter

In honor of Good Friday, here's a little look at Easters past from a 2010 post.

The Mills are a competitive bunch.

We pull out rule books when there's a question of awarding points in board games, we do not believe in do-overs and we never, ever let anyone win. In general, it makes us a tough, formidable lot when it comes to a game of Balderdash or charades. It does not, however, always make it fun to be a kid in our family.

When I say that we don't let anyone win, I really mean anyone. It does not matter if you are three or thirty, if there's a chance to take you in tic-tac-toe, Scrabble or even Candy Land, we seize it. Once during a game of bocce on my great aunt's lawn, I thought that maybe I should change my throws a little so one of the children could win. (I was twenty-eight to their five, six and eight after all. And, yes, they all probably could have taken me on their own, since this particular game did involve throwing and sports stuff, but let's leave that off the table for now.) Then I looked over and realized that my cousin had just knocked his own son's ball out of the competition, and I figured it was our usual "no holds barred" approach to all gaming.  

My father thinks it's character-building. Does life ever let you win? No. Do you have to work hard and earn your victories? Yes. So, the rules are uniform and the same for every one.

Since I could talk, I have never beaten my father in a game of ping pong, Monopoly or Gin Rummy. 

My friends often ask me to join poker games, but I always turn down the invitation. They assume it's because I can't play. "I'll teach you before the game," usually follows my "no thanks."

I can play poker just fine, and I'm actually kind of good at it, but playing poker reminds me of sitting around the kitchen table playing with my dad and sisters when we were much younger. Not only did my dad always win, but he also made us turn over our hands after every game. "Now, Laurel, why would you ever have held onto that eight? What good was that card to you?"

We didn't just lose, we also had to evaluate why we lost. There were times it was a tad excruciating. On the down side, I can't stand poker. On the plus side, it's nearly impossible to beat me in Gin, and I can almost count cards.

No reason or extenuating circumstance could temper this competitive edge -- even on some of the holiest of holy days. And the Mills family Easter egg hunt was one of the most blood-thirsty events of them all.

See that cute picture up there? Those sweet smiles are just facades to hide the plotting we'd already begun. ("There were an egg above the door frame last year. Check there first.") Two minutes after this photo was taken, hair-pulling, pushing and diversionary tactics ("Is someone eating your chocolate bunny over there?") were all fair game as we grabbed Easter eggs from their hiding places like they were pieces of pure gold or coupons for unlimited Barbie dolls.

My middle sister still claims injuries from the hunt of '91. I say I was ten feet away when she fell into that sticker bush.

And even though we're too old to hunt Easter eggs now (I was undefeated when I retired at 13, by the way), it's a tradition we've tried to pass on to our younger cousins. For better or worse, we've given them many of our old tricks, and I look forward to seeing how this Sunday's festivities play themselves out.  

Whatever your leanings/beliefs are, Happy Easter, Happy Passover or just enjoy the weekend! I can't wait for mine -- potential injuries and all.