My Kids Got More Eggs Than Yours

I don't remember how old I was. Perhaps I was around 5 or 6, or about the same age as my older son.

Mom took me to some Houston country club for an Easter egg hunt, and I had confidence that I would come away with a basket of eggs too heavy to carry. However, it was my first mass egg hunt out of the comforts of our family back yard, where my little sister was my only competition.

Alas, when the starting gun went off at the country club, I proved to be slower and less experienced than the other kids. There were three special eggs: gold, silver and bronze. The lucky kids who scored those eggs got some superduper prize.

I got the proverbial rock, as Charlie Brown might say.

I didn't get the gold, silver or bronze. In fact, I hardly got any eggs at all. I got smoked by kids far more experienced on the egg battlefield. They had the speed and eye-hand coordination to ensure that the rookies came up with little more than goose eggs.

So, with bitter memories of that day still vivid in my mind almost four decades later, I have taken it upon myself to become a coach, mentor and drill sergeant when it comes to my sons' Easter hunt battlefield bravery.

Both my boys had some tune-up matches prior to the Mother of All Egg Battles up at the church Saturday morning.

My little guy, Luke, got to go first versus the 0- to 3-year-olds. Sure, he got a lot of eggs, but he got too particular, often picking up and eyeballing an egg, often setting it down. Nevertheless, he managed to emerge from the playground with a basket overflowing with Easter booty.

The main event, for my eldest, Curt, lay ahead. At 5, he had to square off with what looked like hundreds of other kids in the 4- to 7-year-old age group.

This was going to be a chaotic, potentially bloody, engagement, and I gave Curt a critical pre-hunt pep talk:

Dad: "Son, it's going to be tough out there! There are going to be 6- and 7-year-olds out there! You have to be fast! You have to be strong!"

Curt: "Yes, daddy!"

Dad: "ARE YOU READY FOR THIS? ARE YOU?"

Curt: "Yes, daddy!"

Dad: "LET ME SEE YOUR WAR FACE!"

Curt: < : - )

Dad: "THAT'S THE SPIRIT!"

The battlefield was strewn with what looked like thousands of colorful plastic eggs, hundreds of which I'd volunteered to help throw out.

Looking like a pre-battle scene out of "Braveheart," children and parents lined up as the pastor began the countdown to the frenzy.

Curt was like a caged tiger, so much so that when the go-ahead was given, he took off running with so much enthusiasm that he went about 100 yards and passed up hundreds of eggs before he stopped to pick one up.

He quickly got into the groove, though, and managed to pile up a respectable basket full of eggs.

My boys might not yet be the egg hunters I never was, but with a year of hard drills, practice and conditioning, I'm confident I can get them there.