But reading your article rekindled the fond memories of what it was like to celebrate Greek Easter. The Easters secretly eating forbidden foods, such as Cheetos and Butterfingers, during holy week, when your diet was only supposed to consist of vegan fare, so that you could experience Jesus’s sacrifice. And feeling guilty for your sin while drinking the blood of Christ at communion Easter morning. Of course, communion is really wine which makes you the envy of all your Baptist friends. The countless Easters doing ouzo shots with old Greek men after my dad cunningly tricked me into thinking turning the lamb on the spit for four hours was a privilege. And of course, the smashing of the eggs. The elation of triumphantly smashing someone else’s egg only to have that joy deflate like a flan in a cupboard when yours was crushed with one single blow.

So, in the spirit of the Easter story, I have decided to forgive my father. For, I realize, he probably learned it from his father and since my father never had a boy, which is disgraceful in itself, the intergenerational pattern was stopped in its tracks and the custom could not continue. So thanks to your article Mr. Procopio, I’ve realized the importance of carrying on my father’s tradition. I vow to use the dye recipe and find some unsuspecting children to smash with (as unlike a good Greek girl, I have no children of my own). It’s my birthright as a Greek, and I must keep the flame burning until I reach that golden sheep farm in the sky. I’ll do it for my people, I’ll do it for my dad, but mostly, I’ll do it for Jesus. I’m sure He would want it that way.

I am delighted to know that my little post this week was entertaining. I work with a few Greeks and received all sorts of feedback. My favorite was the story of a non-Greek man invited to Easter dinner and brought a red, egg-shaped paper weight with him, with which he proceeded to smash all competition during the egg game. Apparently, Yaya was scandalized, but everyone else thought it was hilarious…

Happy Easter!