Blount and Beyond Online Magazine - Magazine - Page 35
But old Peeps played the game. The brightest of the eggs were placed beside the tuffs of crab grass that haunt me every
year, so they would be easy for the little ones. Then in the rose bushes, so the older boys had to pay with blood, he piled a
few more. A bird feeder held one, my wife9s prized Jade plant another. Course you know who9s gonna get blamed for the
broken limb. Another ten or so were dispersed lower in the yard, and even one, in the bird bath.
But as my sons-in-law snickered, the old man had one more trick up his sleeve. The golden egg, for some strange
reason my wife insisted on wasting five dollars to create more havoc, was slipped into his pocket.
My daughters and wife looked so beautiful in their peach dresses and spring hats. Cameras were in hand to catch the
beautiful and tender moments. Somehow, they9d all forgotten last years9 traumatic events.
The doors opened and the thundering herd broke lose. The two oldest boys knocked the little one9s out of the way
sending baskets loaded with fake green grass flying. White pretty clothes were grass stained never to be the same again.
They galloped through the yard swooping up the easy eggs much like an eagle plucking a spawning salmon from a
shallow stream. My daughters and wife were busy trying to get the younger ones on their feet while shouting harsh
instructions to the older two. They neither heard their mothers nor cared. Competition was in the air and coursing through
their male Southern brains. Then the tears began to flow.