When I was little my grandfather, who was widowed for a very long time, used to come visit us every Easter. Every year he would give us these large, hard and sugared eggs wrapped in cellophane that contained small heart-shaped tokens also made of sugar with words printed on them. They made a hollow 'clinking' sound when you shook them. You know the ones.
When he gave them to us we weren't too keen. As children we enjoyed the chocolate eggs, and these large and heavy 'old fashioned' eggs that he gave each year where our least favourite and yet, year by year, he would come and hand them over to us. To him, I think these meant Easter most of all. I remember my mother often making us come over to thank him for these unwanted gifts. He continued to do this year in and year out, even when we were emerging into young adults. He would always remember us and go out of his way to buy these eggs, even when money for him was scarce.
And now it is one of my favourite childhood memories of Easter. Those sugary, hard eggs that no one liked. Taking on the role for our grandmother, his wife, who passed on very early and whom I'm sure would have done that for us. And when the chocolate ones were well and truly eaten, and still we craved more sweets, I remember almost breaking our teeth as we tried to eat those unwanted eggs - as a last resort. But more often than not they were left untouched and eventually swept away into the rubbish.
I remember the strong smell of the sugar, and the pale pastel colours of the icing.
He is now long gone, my grandfather. But as I think about these things, I realise that it's not about the chocolate, or the eggs, or even finding the right gift for each other at Easter time. It is about family. It is about new and continuing life. It is about knowing that within the most hardened and unassuming shell can be found the sweetest of hearts with a message of love printed for all to see.
And for me, it is about an old, kind and lonely man who felt he could share a few sugary eggs each year with his grandchildren as a way of reaching out and connecting and making our Easter a lovely time.
To me now, it really means so much more.
Those sugared eggs of his.
If only he was here so I could tell him how I now feel.
When he gave them to us we weren't too keen. As children we enjoyed the chocolate eggs, and these large and heavy 'old fashioned' eggs that he gave each year where our least favourite and yet, year by year, he would come and hand them over to us. To him, I think these meant Easter most of all. I remember my mother often making us come over to thank him for these unwanted gifts. He continued to do this year in and year out, even when we were emerging into young adults. He would always remember us and go out of his way to buy these eggs, even when money for him was scarce.
And now it is one of my favourite childhood memories of Easter. Those sugary, hard eggs that no one liked. Taking on the role for our grandmother, his wife, who passed on very early and whom I'm sure would have done that for us. And when the chocolate ones were well and truly eaten, and still we craved more sweets, I remember almost breaking our teeth as we tried to eat those unwanted eggs - as a last resort. But more often than not they were left untouched and eventually swept away into the rubbish.
I remember the strong smell of the sugar, and the pale pastel colours of the icing.
He is now long gone, my grandfather. But as I think about these things, I realise that it's not about the chocolate, or the eggs, or even finding the right gift for each other at Easter time. It is about family. It is about new and continuing life. It is about knowing that within the most hardened and unassuming shell can be found the sweetest of hearts with a message of love printed for all to see.
And for me, it is about an old, kind and lonely man who felt he could share a few sugary eggs each year with his grandchildren as a way of reaching out and connecting and making our Easter a lovely time.
To me now, it really means so much more.
Those sugared eggs of his.
If only he was here so I could tell him how I now feel.
No comments:
Post a Comment