Easter Eggs: Brown Blobs

Tony clicked the shutter button on his phone at least a dozen times, capturing the brightly decorated eggs that now filled the four baskets on the table. It was, of course, obligatory that photos be taken and posted of the festive event every year. If not, did it even really happen? 

Tony was skilled in the art of social photography. He was somehow able to capture pictures that reflected the raw realness of a common family experience yet elevated the scene beyond the lived experience. Through the photos, his family was more vibrant and alive than in real life. He wasn't exactly sure how he did it, but he did, and people liked it, so much so that he was even able to make a bit of money as a result of his large social following. That was nice, of course, as was the recognition and appreciation from hundreds of thousands of complete strangers, but that's not why he took the photos, not really. He took them so that he could remember and relive. Memory was a precious, but fleeting, thing, and these photos were his way of holding on to these magical moments with his kids. He had heard that you actually remember less when you are focused on taking a picture, and even what you do remember is tainted because it's a memory of a screen, not the event itself, but that was a risk he was willing to take. Even a slightly tainted and slightly fake memory was better than none at all. 

With the photo session over, he placed his phone on the table and his arm around Darla, pulling her close and kissing the top of her head. 

“Looks like Annie's really starting to take after her mom in the realm of egg decorating. Those are great.”

"And Brock’s taking after his dad," she teased. “I didn't know we had brown dye." 

“Hey now, don't insult him like that. He could never match my…ummm…talent in egg decorating." 

They both laughed. 

The eggs that they observed were as unique as each of the four members of the Edint family. Some were simple, solid colors. Some were chaotic mixes of colors that blended together with no pattern or purpose. Some incorporated wax drawings, some stickers. There were one or two that reflected an attempt to create decorative bands of varying color that faded into each other. 

Then there were Brock's creations, a blend of every color dye, each on top of one another, staining the white shells. They were not elegant or artful or beautiful by any technical definition, yet in the eyes of their creator they were the most magnificent eggs the world had ever seen. There could not be a more perfect Easter Egg if the Easter Bunny himself had brought it straight from Easterland, or wherever the Easter Bunny resides. To everyone else, the eggs were brown ovals, some punctuated with cracks spiderwebbing around them from being dropped once or twice, but when Brock described them it was anything but “brown." 

This one was a vibrant display of his Easter Basket on Easter morning. There was green and yellow grass talking out of the blue and red basket, and it was filled with toys and candy and eggs.

That one was the Easter Bunny. He was chewing on a carrot, his favorite treat, but only one because he had shared with others with Santa's reindeer, who also loved carrots. They were on the other side of the egg, munching on their carrots and enjoying their spring vacation. 

Next to that one was an egg decorated with an epic space battle between agents of good and evil. There was plenty of action and destruction, but the good guy was winning. 

The other one was their dog, Blizzard. He was big and fluffy and white, and he was smiling while enjoying a dog treat.

Another egg depicted Jesus … and the Easter Bunny … eating “devil eggs" He didn't know that the Devil laid eggs, but everyone says you eat “devil eggs" at Easter; another five-year-old’s idea of good conquering evil.

The eggs were all dirty and brown and cracked, but only to Tony, Darla, Annie, and every other human on Earth older than five or six. To Brock they were colorful and amazing and alive. He had such an active imagination, or maybe it was the magic. Maybe he was the only one who truly saw the stories on the eggs because the magic was strongest in him. 

“I wonder…” Tony thought out loud as he picked up his phone. 

He snapped another few pictures of the brown blobs on the table. 

"Whatcha doing?” Darla asked. 

"Just trying to see what he sees. It's stupid, but I thought that maybe, just maybe, if I could frame the picture right it would bring out the life on those eggs that we’re missing.”

Darla smiled, "And, did it?”

"Nope,” He showed her the phone. "Still just brown."

He paced the phone back down on the table. 

“That's ok. We'll just see it through his eyes like we always do. That's real enough for me." 

“You're right." 

“Now, let's get these eggs back in the fridge so we can use them later to make ‘devil eggs’.” 

They both laughed.