Like me, when you think of Easter (putting aside any religious references), you probably think of sunny mornings in springtime, pastel everything, nice clothes, and colorful baskets. It’s a clean feeling. And the other night, I learned why Easter is a morning tradition or daytime tradition and not something celebrated at night…because it’s creepy.
A couple weeks ago, my wife’s cousin (who has a son around the same age as mine) invited us to go on a flashlight Easter egg hunt sponsored by their park district. My first thought was that it sounded pretty neat. Normally Easter egg hunts involve about ten thousand screaming kids making a mad dash across an open field, scooping up hastily hidden eggs like they were harvesting precious commodity. Although slightly odd, a nighttime Easter egg hunt sounded just enough different to be interesting and fun. It also sounded less congested and hectic. We were in.
Good Friday rolled around, and armed with a basket and flashlight, we met my wife’s cousin’s family at the entrance to a stand of woods off the park district’s property.
After a brief introduction by a guide (who mentioned something about “stations” and “presentations”), we were off, following a trail marked by low-glowing lanterns, flashlights in hand and baskets at the ready. But not a single egg to be found, which was a red flag, but we went with it.
For about fifty yards the going was smooth until a guide ran up to us and asked us if we were just starting the trail. We told her as much, and she informed us we were going the wrong way. “Turn around, the trail begins that way.” We looked to where she pointed and there was no trail, just trees and with a little swath of brush hacked away that you could pretend was a path but wasn’t.
Five minutes into the woods and nothing. Still no eggs. Then up ahead stood a smiling man in a yellow jacket. We assumed he would give us additional instruction, but he just said hello and kept on smiling in the dark at passersby. We rounded a corner and came upon triple-layer razor-wire fences. I looked back at my wife’s cousin (throwing a little more than a questioning glance that said, “What kind of egg hunt is this? Are we going to get out of these woods?” And her husband sort of answered my question with, “Oh, this must be the detention center. I didn’t know we were this close to it.”
Detention center? So that’s a no. We’re not getting out of these woods.
“Juvenile detention center,” he clarified, which didn’t make me feel much better, seeing there was a gate standing wide open. (I’m not being dramatic here, the gate seriously was wide open.)
Finally, we approached a woman at the side of the path, who had buckets of fake reptiles at her feet. By lantern light, the woman excitedly informed us about how reptiles and amphibians lay eggs, during which time, my wife’s cousin’s son said out loud, “But it’s the weekend. Why are we learning stuff?”
I’m not going to lie. I didn’t disagree. I signed up for an Easter egg hunt, not Hansel & Gretel/Little Red Riding Hood with a lesson plan. Little did I know, though, that the egg hunt was beginning at a plastic bin filled with shredded paper on the ground, which the kids were instructed to sift through to find a reptile-Easter egg.
Not strange at all.
On we went through three other stations, each telling us about different creatures that lay eggs, which I admit became quite interesting, and although a bit stilted, apt for the holiday.
After we finished learning about insect eggs, we went on our way deeper into the woods until we saw two columns of string lights wrapped around the posts of a pavilion. Arriving there we noticed that standing between the columns was the Easter Bunny, before him a minefield of colored eggs. A park attendant informed the kids they could each take five eggs then go have their picture taken with the Easter Bunny. It was all a bit ceremonial, if you will, like our children were being asked to bring the Easter Bunny an offering as he waited flanked by glowing columns of light.
My son was having none of it and asked me if he had to. I told him absolutely not. I didn’t even want to go by the tall, lanky man in a toothy, grinning Easter Bunny costume with two black eye sockets the size of fists. If you’ve never seen the Easter Bunny at night in a dark, forested area, you’re lucky. It’s just wrong.
My wife’s cousin’s son, who’s seven, went up for a picture, though, and he returned to us being able to read complete sentences. So there’s that. I’m kidding, the kid’s super smart…just not smart enough to avoid the Easter Bunny at night.
Editor’s note: Everything I wrote here I wrote in jest and to be dramatic and funny. While these events did occur and I manufactured nothing, it was actually a very clever idea and I applaud the park district for seeing an educational opportunity and offering it in a creative way. The park attendants and presenters were cheery and knowledgeable, and we had fun. Genuinely. Yes, we did have some laughs at the event’s expense, but it was innocent enough and quite memorable. But I will tell you Easter and nighttime does not work.
