Blood Thirsty Bunny

"Easter Egg Rolling Disaster" Watercolor & Ink. © 2022 Linnie Aikens Lindsay

For good or bad, while I never wanted to be on the stage, I always wanted to be noticed.  My one and only day in “lights” came at age 6, when I received televised recognition.

I would have liked to dig up that old Channel 2 news reel of 1966, when reporters filmed an Easter Egg Rolling Contest on the front lawn of Micheltorena St. School in the Silverlake area of Los Angeles.  No matter; the event is emblazoned on childhood memories. Those were the days when you could still celebrate the holidays in school.  I was in 1^st grade, and considered the “teacher’s pet” by most because I was quiet, polite, almost always obeyed the rules (to anyone observing), and would often offer to help the teacher.  My sisters would say I was a “goodie two-shoes,” and mean boys would call me a “brown nose,” not that I had any idea what that meant at the time.  The worst was when two girls in class had cornered me in the girls’ bathroom and started kicking my favorite Felix the Cat metal lunchbox around the bathroom telling me I’d better watch out and quit being a “teacher’s pet.”   Mom and Dad would just laugh when I complained of my ill treatment at dinner and say that I sure had everyone fooled. No help from that quarter.

The egg rolling contest could not have had a more glorious sunny day, according to the teacher and the reporters.  I was more concerned about planning my strategy for winning to notice.  I would just be very careful, the words of Aesop’s fable, “The Tortoise and the Hare,” I rolled into my strategy.  I’d also employ the “debutante glide method” that Mom had taught us when it came to walking smoothly.  I stood up tall, smoothed down my best pastel rainbow plaid Easter dress, and I practiced how to hold my egg spoon.  I always planned ahead, even at 6.

The bell rang and we were off.  My technique was perfect and I was inching up on Wilson, who had immediately shot out ahead. Soon we were neck and neck in the contest when suddenly he lost his balance, fell back, and SAT on my egg!  Shocked, I yelled. Then I jumped up in my little Easter dress with seersucker bodice, pigtails a bouncing, I put my hands on my hips and glared him down on local TV. Then I STOMPED his egg with my dreadful black and white oxford shoe!!!  It was one of those humbling moments immortalized for all time.  I do recall it being the only time I was ever truly appreciative of those hard-soled ugly shoes that my mom made me wear every single day of grammar school!  The cracking splat made such a satisfying sound, and poor Wilson, who was such a kind, quiet boy, was never quite the same towards me ever again.

I had to live with that impulsive response for months thereafter as every relative called to verbally punch my dad in the shoulder with a chuckle, not to mention the “Did you know…” and large black and white photo of my humiliating moment preserved on the church bulletin board the next week by Mr. Woods, a photographer, who, while good intentioned, had the uncanny knack for catching churchgoers at their worst.

I occasionally still think of Wilson, as I was paid back in later years, having become afflicted with asthma in my twenties. I am still reminded of poor Wilson who always had to drink hot water from his little thermos at recess and take in the steam to help him breathe more easily.  In the early 1960’s, this was long before the days when teachers taught children about diversity of any kind, much less, when inhalers were invented. Most of the kids teased him mercilessly, and others of us observed him with morbid fascination, as if he were some kind of specimen in an experiment.  It’s one of those regrets that I never got to apologize to him before he passed on--for that and the egg stomping on local T.V. 

As a teacher in my adulthood, I was often taken aback by the cruelty of kids towards each other due to ignorance, poor sense of self, and lack of self-control, or what we now, in the 2020’s call “self-regulation”.  While we have come a long way towards understanding asthma and providing diversity training and lessons in tolerance, I still found my students falling into the trap of trying to boost their self-esteem by putting down another child.  I was also wondered how often those sentiments resembled their parents’ attitudes and fears.  Mostly fears, is my bet. I am sure I must’ve done the same countless times in my ignorance as a parent.  The humbling revelations of old age force the issue of tolerance and graciousness of the younger generation’s mistakes, I am learning.

            During the course of teaching for 32+ years, I often thought of Wilson.  When I had a student who reacted emotionally, sometimes explosively and impulsively to an event in my class, especially one who rarely did so, I’d let the student cool down, and I then I’d privately tell him or her this story. They were always shocked that a teacher might have done something so unkind when she was a kid.  We’d talk about why I got so emotional and what I could have done differently to not harm poor Wilson—his egg and his feelings. This usually opened the door for the child to look at his own behavior and do the same without feeling that I was judging him poorly. As a parent and teacher, it was important to me to use the learning gained through my own poor choices to make a positive difference in each child’s life that I touched.  Oh boy, did I have a lot of personal examples to draw from too!

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Note: All artwork, stories and observations posted within should be credited to the author, Linnie Aikens Lindsay (unless cited in the post). Permission is required for any use of my words or artwork. Taken from my work, "My Life As Wallpaper Art".