Every Easter Sunday for the past 5 years, this Jew goes with her Jewish daughter, Catholic son-in-law, and a host of Italian Catholics, Protestants, and other extended family members to the home of a wonderful couple who live near the beach and across the street from a mini-park. We go to eat, hunt for plastic eggs filled with really nice gifts instead of candy, pray, eat a lot more, and then stagger off to our various homes. Everybody has gone to Mass before heading to this Easter party except me. I stay home and do something productive, like cutting out knit fabric for elastic-waist pull on pants. After leaving Mass and gathering their potluck contributions, one family member or another comes to pick me up and drive me to the home of the wonderful couple. It appears that going to Mass on Easter Sunday is somewhat like fasting on Passover. Everyone brings a huge appetite to the table. Platters of sweets and savories of all sorts are piled up waiting for us, next to boxes of See’s candy and Hershey’s chocolates. We eat, we chat, we eat, we catch up, we eat, we swap seats, we eat. Then we go hunt for eggs. (Details to follow.) When we return from our Games of Eggs, we hold hands in a circle, say Grace, pick up new plates and pile them with the catered Mexican Food that’s been delivered hot, fresh and spicy while we were busy throwing eggs at each other across the street. There’s nothing better on Easter Sunday afternoon than Mexican food, followed by cookies, cakes, and more chocolate. When we leave, we’re too full to walk. We have to waddle to our cars thinking we will never need to eat again. I don’t know about the rest of the crowd but before bedtime I’m looking for a snack. Other than eating ourselves into oblivion, the other tradition is to go across the street to the mini-park, hunt for plastic eggs, and then throw real eggs at each other. Before we are let loose to run across the street, we have to listen to the Rules of The Hunt. These rules change each year as the little children grow older and the older relatives have more trouble bending over. Every year there is a limit set for number of eggs one can gather. In the beginning, all but the children were limited to three eggs. Little ones could gather as many as they could find, and I think they were filled with candy and miniature toys. By the second year, special eggs with colored wrappings were hidden in plain site for the old folks, who were allowed three eggs each. My nephews made sure Aunt Carol had three eggs, which was very kind and very necessary because I usually got distracted watching everyone else run through the bushes and forgot to look down. There was also One Golden Egg. Something very special was hidden in the Golden Egg but I can’t tell you what; I never found one. This Easter the rules got simpler. All the eggs except two were plastic. Each egg held at least one or more lottery scratchers, gift cards, or raffle tickets for big deal store gift cards. Everybody was limited to 9 eggs. There were two Golden Eggs and they were hidden waist high, embedded in a wall of ivy. It took 20 minutes of poking through thorns to find them. As always, once the Hunt was over, the real games begin. First you have to balance an egg on a plastic spoon and run around the park three times without dropping and cracking your egg. I usually join in because I’m very good at carrying an egg on a spoon without dropping it. I only circle once and I always come in last but I consider myself victorious because I haven’t tripped over tree roots or knocked over any of my competitors. There are no videos of me coming in last because by the time I get to the finish line everyone else has lined up for the egg toss. Everyone knows what an egg toss is. You pick a partner who is lined up facing you. The two lines get farther and farther apart with each toss of the egg back and forth. There are two sets of winners: the last pair whose egg is still intact and those whose hands and feet are not covered in broken egg yolk slime. Our Easter Party is made particularly special by the last game of the year. It is so special, the host brings out his camera drone and flies it far enough overhead to capture the game yet still stay out of range of those contestants who try to down the drone with a raw egg missile. The game goes like this: contestants gather in a circle, each holding a raw egg. At the count of three, everyone tosses their egg as high as they can straight up into the air, then stands perfectly still with their shoulders hunched and heads hanging, hoping the descending blitz misses them and hits their neighbors instead. With each round the circle grows smaller and smaller. The number of people looking for a paper towel to rub off egg goo grows larger and larger. The projectiles become more and more deadly. If the circle narrows down to 4-5 players and no one gets hit after 2-3 tosses, they give up and decide they’ve had enough egg toss fun for one year. Please don’t overlook the truly significant part of this particular game. It’s not that they throw eggs high into the air, it’s that they stand still and wait to get whacked instead of running away, which is what any sane person would do. Did I mention this game is called Suicide Eggs? I played the first year. I cheated. I threw my egg over my shoulder. I didn’t get slimed that year but I’m not taking any more chances. One Suicide Egg contest is enough to last me the rest of my lifetime. I’d rather go back across the street and be first in line for Charo chicken.