With Easter this coming weekend, my mom asked if I remembered the Easter egg hunts we had growing up.

I vaguely recall looking for eggs in the big yard next to my grandparents’ house. Mostly I remember dressing up for Easter Mass with a new hat, gloves and shiny white patent leather shoes.

The Easters I remember the most, I told her, are the ones when our children, her grandchildren, were young. Those I remember like they were yesterday.

On the Saturday before Easter Sunday, we’d sit around the bar in my parents’ house and let the kids dye eggs. At least half ended up on the floor because those excited little hands couldn’t quite hold on to a hard-boiled egg.

Before the hunt began, the uncles would hide the eggs while we’d hold the youngsters inside. It was an unspoken rule – the ones on the patio, the ones in plain sight, were for the youngest cousins.

Then, the kids would line up on the steps by the back door, and when an uncle gave the word, off they’d go.

Some of the children would find an egg, stop, sit down and peel it right there. Forget about looking for more eggs. Their philosophy was I got something solid here – why waste time chasing after things I can’t see?

The older ones always helped the younger ones, and we still talk about their generosity and kindness.

There was a limit as to how many they could find so the hunt would be fair. The kids always accepted that rule without question. Well, with little questioning.

The afternoon ended with the egg cracking contest. Although I can’t remember who won those contests, I remember the older ones trying every strategy to win – holding the egg so just a little bit showed, spinning the egg to see which end had air and would be vulnerable.

Finally, we’d clean up, pack up and head home, ready for another week of work and school. We’d reminisce every year about the year before, retell the stories and add a few more.

Over the years, some of us moved out of state so we created our own Easter memories and traditions. For us, Saturday evening was for dyeing the eggs, and Sunday morning for combing through our baskets to see what the Easter Bunny brought before heading to church.

Sunday afternoon was for hunting eggs and silently wishing we were back at Mom and Dad’s to be with everyone.

I didn’t realize those fun everybody-together moments would become precious memories. I took for granted the Hebert siblings, cousins, nieces, nephews, spouses and friends would spend holidays together.

Those times together have become gold in my memory because we were gathered as a family. Didn’t matter about the spilled Kool-Aid, the stacks of dirty dishes, nor the dozens of toys scattered all over my mom’s living room floor.

Those hectic days are what I remember when my house is quiet. I replay watching my brothers play basketball in our parents’ driveway, slowly evolving into watching our nephews and nieces shoot hoops.

The same kids who once looked for Easter eggs are now hiding eggs in their back yards for their children or enjoying their own Easter traditions as a couple.

As we all make new memories, I’ll be remembering Easter egg hunts at the Hebert household, a holiday together we didn’t think was all that special.

At the time, it was simply a Sunday afternoon. Now, those moments are precious gold.

This column was originally published in The Fort Bend Herald.