They dressed up for the occasion, as was traditional. The Capitol decreed that it would be festive, regardless of how un-festive they felt. Some children had few chits in the drawing; baby klein was not one of those children.
The train ride was shocking but lonely. Never before had baby klein seen such luxury, such opulence, such... sunglasses.
She was small. She knew this could be an asset as well as a liability; the other Tributes might underestimate her prowess. Best to trust no one.
The arena was packed. It seemed the entire Capitol had turned out to watch their annual bloodsport.
"I'm Johnny," the boy said, and handed her a rock. Then he held out his hand to ask for the rock back. It was good to make a friend...
...but she knew only one of them would live.
They assembled around an arena, barely 100 feet on a side. It was bounded on all sides by a mud-filled trench sixteen inches wide. Cheering and chanting parents crowded for position as their baby Tributes prepared to do their duty for honor and glory. And then one lone harried Capitol official appeared - on her shoulder, THE CORNUCOPIA. (Not making any of this passage up - it was like fuckin' Toddler Thunderdome. . . -ed)
Eager Tributes and more eager parents started to jockey for position!
"May the odds be ever in your favor," said the stylists and coaches. They knew that the ensuing bloodbath would be bittersweet, but it would be glorious.
"Stand your ground!" said the Capitol slave. "We must not begin before the horn is sounded!" Yet the tributes (and their coaches) converged on the Cornucopia, her words unheeded. Smelling blood, the periphery followed the early advancement of the vanguard, the warnings of the slave unheard...
. . . and me and my daughter bailed instead of taking pictures of five hundred toddlers and a thousand parents converging on two garbage bags full of plastic eggs and Sweet Tarts. and they started a half hour late, and she had a cold. What a shitshow.
But fer real. Fuckin' Toddler Thunderdome up in this bitch. El Segundo, CA, Apr 19 2014 (a day that lives in infamy)
That is a crazy amount of kids. I never went to any big events for easter as a kid. My parents would make a crossword puzzle out of the locations that they hid the candy and we would have to solve it. They included some neighbours in it as well, as there weren't many kids on the block. Good memories.
We have about 10 kids coming to our house tomorrow, it should get interesting....but she knew only one of them would live.
-laughed pretty hard there, thanks. Glad she survived.
We're gonna put something together next year. We were expecting a park with some eggs scattered about, not a Battle Royale arena full of crap and surrounded by a thousand people. The couple I went with and I were cracking up, and bailed right about the time we were supposed to be taking pictures of the bloodsport. Good luck tomorrow. I'll bet it's awesome.
Yo. Those eggs aren't even hidden! Not even close. The best thing about easter was the mission to find the hidden eggs. Sometimes they would pop up days (or years later). Every year we would go to my great-aunt's house in Pasadena. There were 6 kids who were 6 years apart and then a couple babies and a couple older ones. We would be inside and do food. Really great food. Really really really great food. Honey baked hams and jello and green bean casserole with smokey goat cheese and bacon things and stuff. And pies. 6 or 7 different pies. Easter was the day that side of our family got together. Christmas and Thanksgiving was reserved for closer family members. Then we would all line up, take a photo, and race out the back door. They had a back balcony with a old school wooden cabin / dollhouse thing. I don't know what to call it. It's like a children's house but not one of those plastic ones. It was built in years and years ago. Then wrapped around the back there were orange trees and plants and patio furniture and ivy creeping up on the far side of the back balcony and all sorts of fun hiding spots. We would find them for hours. The parents would sit and watch and drink and cheer us on and help up find the ones that were hiding in light fixtures and too high for us to reach. A couple of times we found ones that were actually hidden the year before. We noticed that some of the eggs were quite light in color or dirty or contained candy that "the easter bunny" hadn't purchased that year. Our parents started checking after this happened a couple times - although I don't think little candies go bad. Then we would open them up and see what amazingness we had obtained. We would trade candies we didn't like for those we did and make sure the parents didn't steal our loot while we weren't looking. That side of my family is filled with teachers and thusly used every opportunity to teach us new things. Early on we learned about colors via the eggs and later we would organize the candies by size or shape or color. We would graph them and see how our look held up against each other. I remember sitting around a Windows 95 computer with my uncle as he made different charts in excel using our data. And we would scream, "no choose that one! Those colors are prettier." Or, "Hey, he got way more chocolates that me!" Your photos though. Fuck. You just throw eggs on a grass surface and call it easter egg hunting? Pshhh...
My great grandmother on my dad's side had seven daughters and seven sons. Her dying wish was that the family not drift apart. As a result, every year there was a Gathering Of The Tribes where far-flung 'bl00s would gather their Winnebagos in Claunch, New Mexico to eat fried catfish. Do me a solid and look up Claunch, NM in Google Maps. Check it out in satellite view for full effect. Know that if you water a tree with the well water there it'll die... and the only water is well water. Also know that my father is the first 'bl00 to go to college in that entire extended family tree. ANYWAY We didn't have to do that much, but we had a mini Gathering of the Tribes at Easter, 4th of July, Thanksgiving and Christmas where my family and my aunt's extended brood would show up at my grandparents' house to eat a dead animal, Stove Top with egg in it and green jello full of carrot shavings. My mother, in protest, would always drag her feet so that we would show up two hours after the meal was served with a veggie tray that nobody wanted. Easter was particularly weird because my cousins babysat me and my sister, while I babysat my cousin's kids. There were four of them less than five years apart, but the youngest was six years older than me. My grandparents occupied a walled compound on the Santa Fe Trail just up the road from Chimayo, the inspiration for The Milagro Beanfield War. The easter egg hunt happened in a concrete and rock courtyard surrounded by eight feet of gray cindeblock with a small patch of lawn and a giant satellite dish. And strawberry plants. Strawberry plants that never bore fruit. So it was pretty much up to me and my sister to provide the "entertainment" of easter, at least until my cousins started popping out kids. We didn't hunt for eggs, we didn't hunt for candy. We hunted for fossils that had been candy when my cousins were our age: You see, they were individually wrapped. And they were like a jellybean coating with marshmallow on the inside. Or, they had been when my cousin Larry was a kid. Back when my grandmother had somehow secured a deal on the free world supply of the horrible things. Because they never, ever stopped. Larry graduated high school when I was in first grade. So it didn't really matter whether we found everything or not. And the hiders would often find eggs that had been left there years before, and just let them be... someone would find them eventually. Cruellest of ironies, once my cousins' kids were ambulatory my cousins took it upon themselves to resupply my grandmother's candy horde with treats that post-dated the fall of Saigon. So those ungrateful little shits never had to smile around fuckin' petrified marshmallow with a belly full of lime and carrot jello. By the time I had a taste of a Brach's Candy Egg the way Papa Brach intended it to be eaten I was well past the joy of finding one hidden behind the slew motor of a K-band satellite dish. So I hid them for my little cousins, ungrateful little shits that had no idea how good they had it. I hid the fuck out of those eggs. I'll bet some of them are still there. * As far as the challenge in the Great El Segundo Pigfuck of 2014, it should be pointed out that "hiding" is mostly a formality when one is dealing with toddlers. That said, yeah, we were unimpressed by the spirit of the event. At least leave the grass unmowed for a couple weeks, FFS. And here I sit, insomniac, with an easter basket to my left and scattered plastic eggs all throughout the living room. We didn't hide them very hard, but she'll have to look. I'm totally psyched.
YES. Thank you. It's not FUN to run around picking up eggs. The point is in the thrill of the chase, goddammit. I don't understand why people do it this way. Is it another America's-in-decline, millennials can't handle failure thing? Do they genuinely think 5 year olds can't be happy on Easter unless there are 46 eggs in plain sight? Hell, we used to hide eggs on days that weren't even Easter because it was such a great way to kill four hours.Yo. Those eggs aren't even hidden! Not even close. The best thing about easter was the mission to find the hidden eggs. Sometimes they would pop up days (or years later).
We would find them for hours. The parents would sit and watch and drink and cheer us on and help up find the ones that were hiding in light fixtures and too high for us to reach. A couple of times we found ones that were actually hidden the year before.
Every year, my uncle takes my niece to the local country club for an egg hunt. The center of the hunt is the prize awarded to whichever child finds the golden egg. Every year, my uncle, who is rich and without scruples, pays off the guy who sets up the event. Every year, my niece walks away with the golden egg. She's only about eight and it's already difficult to be around her. Great pictures, by the way. Your daughter is extremely cute.
