GreeK Easter

Easter-another big event in our family- at least on the Greek side. When I was growing up, I always got an Easter basket on American Easter Day because my mom is not Greek, but usually Greek Easter falls on a later Sunday. The Orthodox calender follows a different schedule, but what it usually means is that the Greek Easter bunny gets to hit the half price candy. This year, however, much to the dismay of cheap Greeks everywhere, both fall on the same day.

My father recalls the fasting which lasted until the Saturday night before Easter Sunday, then everyone went to church- a midnight mass of sorts, and the fast ended with a huge meal in the middle of the night. A lot of people think of lambs turning on spits when they think of Greek celebrations, and I did, too, but I was lately informed that our Yiya always did a leg of lamb, and the lamb thing wasn’t done until my Uncle Mimi moved to Chevy Chase in the late forties. Yes, as Thanksgiving is my parents’ holiday, and Christmas falls to my Uncle Nick, Easter was my Aunt Catherine and Uncle Mimi’s event. Baseball in the side yard, and tables set up outside on the back terrace. I remember doing the Twist for the first time in their basement, and watching the Wizard of Oz on TV. (It must have rained that year) But the biggest kick for kids at our Easter has always been the tradition of the Egg War.

All Greek Easter eggs are dyed a deep red for Christ’s blood. Some use food coloring. My Yiya used to use red crepe paper. (Go figure- but it worked better than anything these days.) All symbolism aside, the seemingly sole purpose that I, the torch bearer, boil up a vat of red dye each year to color a gazillion eggs is to destroy them. The point is you take your egg, hold it in your fist with one end showing, and hit your opponent or be hit. The egg that cracks is the loser, and the victor goes on until all eggs are broken- usually on both ends- and only one champion egg is left. If you cheat like my father and uncle, you might slip in your thumb or, if really prepared, a marble substitute.

These days my cousins, Dean and Ann have taken on the daunting task of having the hoopla at their house which is a frightful distance from Washington. They keep moving farther away, but it does no good. Many of us are well known for not missing a meal. Some of my family can’t find their way out of a paper bag so they tend to travel in tribes with those that can. The number of children attending this party is alarmingly high,almost out numbering the adults. Egg count this year is up to about 45, and the forecast must have my poor cousins contemplating moving out of state...but until that happens we will persevere. I’ve got to go hit the Safeway and get the eggs. Cronya Polla, y'all.