Generation X Easter Memories

Easter in the 1980s. A magical time when hair was high, candy was pure sugar and carcinogens, and our parents let us do things that would have modern helicopter moms filing lawsuits. I'm a proud Gen Xer, which means I was raised on a steady diet of Saturday morning cartoons, latchkey independence, and the kind of Easter memories that can only be described as “mildly traumatic with pastel flair.”

Let me take you back to a simpler time. A time before Pinterest-perfect Easter baskets and organic, dye-free jelly beans made from the tears of unicorns.

The Easter Outfits of Doom

First, the clothes. Oh, the clothes. Easter Sunday meant dressing like a tiny adult who lost a bet with a fabric store. My sister got crammed into a ruffled nightmare that looked like it had been stolen from a Victorian porcelain doll, while I was shoved into a polyester blend suit that made me sweat like a rotisserie chicken—at 9 a.m.

And let’s not forget the mandatory church visit. Because nothing says resurrection like fidgeting through a sermon while trying not to pass out from the 17 layers of taffeta and Aqua Net in the air. And if like me, you happened to be of the Greek Orthodox faith? Then you understood next to nothing during mass, as it was recited in ancient Greek. With words almost certainly intended to sound inappropriate to juvenile ears. Sending you and your siblings into a giggling fit that resulted in multiple smacks to the head from your mother.

Easter Egg Hunts: The Hunger Games, Suburban Edition

Our egg hunts weren’t these cute, evenly spaced, Pinterest-worthy affairs. Oh no. It was more like an episode of Survivor, but with more crying and less camera crew. Parents would lob eggs into the bushes like grenade launchers and yell, “GO!” while 30 sugar-starved kids tore across the lawn like caffeinated wolves in patent leather shoes.

Half the eggs were real, hard-boiled ones that had been sitting in the sun since sunrise. The other half were plastic ones filled with off-brand jelly beans that tasted like sadness. And if you were really lucky, you'd get the golden egg, which contained one dollar and a sense of superiority that lasted until at least Tuesday.

The Candy That Tried to Kill Us

Ah yes, the candy. We didn’t have “allergy-safe” or “low-sugar” options. We had Cadbury Creme Eggs filled with what I’m convinced was straight-up glue stick. We had Peeps that doubled as insulation foam. We had waxy chocolate bunnies with eyes that haunted your dreams.

And we ate it all. In one sitting. On shag carpet. While watching a rerun of The Dukes of Hazzard. Then we’d run outside barefoot, trip over a Big Wheel, and eat a handful of grass. Because that was balance.

The Bunny Was… Questionable

Our Easter Bunny was a guy from the local Elk’s Lodge in a suit that looked like it had been run over by a station wagon and washed in regret. You’d sit on his lap, stare into his lifeless plastic eyes, and wonder if this was the moment your soul left your body. And your parents took photos—lots of photos—which now live on as cursed artifacts in family albums, haunting Facebook timelines every spring.

In Conclusion: We Survived

So yeah, Easter in the '80s was a glorious mess of artificial dyes, questionable fashion, and enough sugar to tranquilize a horse. But you know what? We survived. And we didn’t even need gluten-free peep alternatives or an app to tell us where the eggs were.

So to all the Gen Xers out there—cheers to our pastel-colored trauma. And to the younger generations: you’ll never know the thrill of peeling a real egg that may or may not be partially spoiled, while dressed like a wedding cake.

Happy Easter, the old-school way.