Easter, '88

At Easter, when I was much younger, I had trouble spotting the eggs hidden in Papa and Granny's backyard. Despite my head start, I wound up with the least, thereupon whimpering and crying that I had not discovered the eggs as well as my older cousins, and brother. The tears usually worked. Several more eggs were placed in my basket.
One particular Easter, I was given my head start, found a handful - well, one egg was a handful back then - I found two handfuls and the older cousins bolted from the doorway like rabbits. Searching frantically, under tall grasses and shrubs, around and down, I finally decided to tilt my head back, and look up.
I found it! A whopper of an egg. I bet then there was a big old Reese's peanut butter egg inside. Or better yet, one of those old sugar eggs, probably from last year, yet still questionably edible. Oh, I couldn't wait to get my hands on that egg. Yet, it sat pompously mocking me atop the brick sill of the bathroom window.
From nowhere, my eldest cousin came up and I beamed! He'll get it for me!
He looked at me, and I looked at him, then we both looked at the egg. Already pushing thirteen, towering over me, he reached for the egg, and ran off.
At that moment I was shocked, tortured, that what I expected had not panned. Only recently did I recognize the lesson presented, that I should have learned.