An Ode to a Family Easter Tradition
When I think about Easter growing up, I don’t immediately picture chocolate bunnies or big pastel baskets. Nope. For me, Easter always meant family, food, and one very specific tradition: picking eggs. Or as some might know it, egg tapping.
Now if you’ve never heard of picking eggs, let me give you a little backstory. It’s an old-school game with roots that stretch across cultures—some say it came from Europe, others tie it to ancient springtime rituals. But for my family, it was as familiar as ham and deviled eggs on Easter Sunday. The rules are simple: each person holds a hard-boiled egg and takes turns tapping the pointed ends against someone else’s egg. The goal? Crack theirs without cracking yours. The egg that stays uncracked is the winner—almost like a champion fighter in a tiny, brightly colored shell.
This wasn’t just a casual game in my family. It was serious. A full-on family tournament. We’d all gather after Easter dinner, laughing and cheering each other on. My Uncle Karl? Practically a legend. He had this uncanny ability to pick the toughest egg every single year. People would trade eggs or even hide their “good” ones like prized jewels until it was their turn to tap. Uncle Karl’s eggs were always perfectly dyed, deep in color, almost glistening like polished stones. And somehow, year after year, his egg would emerge unscathed while the rest of ours looked like tiny victims of a very gentle battle.
My grandfather was also an egg-picking pro. He had the touch, the strategy, and the patience to be a true contender. Watching him face off against my father was like the Super Bowl of Easter for our family. The rest of us would watch with bated breath, clutching our own eggs and hoping to be next in the winner’s circle.
Sadly, as time moved on and the elders who anchored those traditions passed, the gatherings grew smaller and the egg picking faded. The big family Easter celebrations we once had aren’t really a thing anymore. Life pulled everyone in different directions, and the tradition that once brought us all together is now a fond and cherished memory.
But every Easter, I still think about it. I picture that table full of food, the laughter echoing through the house, and that first crack of two eggs meeting with the excitement of competition and love. I might not be tapping eggs every year now, but I carry the joy of those Easters with me always.
And who knows? Maybe someday I’ll bring back egg picking—find the perfect egg, teach the next generation how to hold it just right, and whisper the legend of Uncle Karl as the egg-tapping champion of the world.
Because some traditions are too good to let go.
Did your family have a quirky Easter tradition like ours? Tell me about it—I love a good nostalgic moment.
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