Disappointment

I know, I'm only four, but I've had my share of disappointments. Mommy's refusal to let me wear the butterfly skirt, flower shirt, and navy blue knee high socks out in public is one. Another is the fact I can't have a treat after every meal. But nothing is more disappointing to me than Easter egg hunts. If I could make lists, that would be my number one. Let me explain.

Last year, I attended my second egg hunt in our neighborhood. To put it in a nutshell, they began the egg hunt before my little legs could make it to the starting line. The result, I stood in the middle of the field, tears streaming down my face with an empty basket. Talk about embarrassing. But, there was hope. They directed me and a few other's with empty baskets to a small area with a few more eggs. However, I was outdone again, but this time by adults. Yes, adults were jumping in front of me and hoarding the eggs in their shirts. Mommy stood up for me. The greedy adults, however, paid little mind to Mommy's plea. In the end, the hunt was a disappointment, my first egg hunt disappointment.

This leads me to my SECOND egg hunt disappointment. We arrived this year prepared. Daddy asked the officials if the adults would be reminded to only let the kids gather the eggs. Apparently Daddy wasn't the only adult who gave this reminder. Grant and I scanned the field of eggs. We mapped out our plan. Then, we waited. and waited. and waited. It seemed we waited forever. But we were patient. We gazed upon the eggs set before us. We imagined what goody lay inside. We could almost taste the sweet candy melting in our mouths. And we hoped. We hoped for that golden coin. What did it mean? What would it bring for us?

Finally, the officials called Grant's age group to the line. Basket in hand, he was ready. Parents were reminded to only point out eggs and let the children put them in their basket. We had high hopes for Grant. He was one of the older ones this year. His legs were stronger. His arms, more muscular. Yes, he was ready. The caller gave the command. Grant and Mommy were off. However, it seems most parents did not heed the advice of the caller. As Mommy recalled,

"One parent scooped their child up and ran with him as if he was a football."

The chaos was appalling. Parents went ecstatic. By the time Grant picked up his first egg (and tried to open it then and there unaware of the consequences of that fatal move), the eggs were gone. In fact, those greedy parents who managed to throw eggs into their child's basket had, in fact, gathered eggs in my designated section. Leaving only a handful for us to hunt.

And, there stood Grant. He managed to gather one more egg in the mad rush. He stood proud, though. He, HE, himself, found those two eggs. Mommy didn't throw his in the basket. It was the work of his little hands and feet. I told him to raise his head high. Be proud. Even after a one year old, who's basket overflowed with eggs (can you say "competitive parent?"), tried to take Grant's TWO eggs from his basket, I told him not to be ashamed, that he earned his eggs. That boy will grow up and still be expecting his daddy to help him while Grant is a successful business man, reaping the benefits of hard work and some blood, sweat, and tears.

He stared blankly at me.

After watching that fiasco, Daddy coached me. He laid before me a plan. A plan of success. Make a beeline to the back of my section. Start gathering eggs. But, you see, it was a failed plan from the beginning. I was ready, yes. But I was outnumbered. Outnumbered by boys taller and faster than me. By boys and girls armed with more experience. More tenacity. More drive. So, when the caller yelled, "GO!" I did run. I made a beeline. It just seems so did everyone else. And before I could reach down for an egg...they were all gone. It was only due to one boy's disinterest in one of his many eggs, that I was able to get one. It was last year all over again. I froze. My eyes welled up. I looked back at Mommy and Daddy and I cried. Daddy came to my rescue. Tears of disappointment rolled down my cheeks.

So, when one mentions disappointment, I can't help but think of egg hunts.

However, thanks to Mommy and our neighbor, Mrs. Julie, I'm beginning to rebuild. Rebuild my respect for egg hunts. Shortly after my "after egg hunt" nap, my friend Emma, Grant, and I, enjoyed another egg hunt. One where we weren't competing against over zealous parents and more experienced kids. And I must say, this time I was not disappointed.