With a cool surprise inside a large dark chocolate egg.
But it never did. Usually, instead, there would be the bells of the Pragelato Church breaking the silence of the mountains to wake me up, followed by the Buona Pasqua! coming from my parents' bedroom and the reminder that, to make it in time for the first service at the Church, I would have to get up immediately. I was expected to quickly dip the cookies my mom had left in the kitchen, next to the caffelatte with the saucer on top, which she was putting to keep it warm. Then there was the competition to who would get to wash his face first with the freezing water, then the rushing in front of the wooden wardrobe, while I was trying to quickly find something more stylish than my 70s style dirty jeans and my black turtle neck sweater so that my parents would be pleased to show me off to their friends and acquaintances even though I was not wearing their beloved Pragelato outfit, because that was always the risk (see photo below).
So, I was always careful at trying to pick clothes that would make me "look elegant and with dignity", to quote words of my mom - To my surprise, last week I found that these are the words my country men still use on Facebook when they talk about people.
Then there would be a long service in the Church with the priest who was called by the locals "il Don", whose crusty voice was making an echo effect and was somehow able to keep all the Pragelato people glued together, on those cold benches. I knew that when the service was over, the chiacchere di paese (country gossip) would start outside the Church and that I had no chance to get away from it. My only worth mentioning point to try to leave was the fact that the lunch hour was approaching and that we still had to buy bread at the market. So I was going back on this same excuse many times, hoping that my parents would finally be able to say goodbye to the old lady in the Pragelato costume and leave. But nothing would persuade them. I knew I would have to wait for many more hours before I could finally put my hands on that chocolate egg.
Even when I was coming up with the perfect excuse (e.g. the cheese guy in the market is packing his stuff, he is about to leave, mom! ) to persuade my parents to go, the chatting with the woman who used to give me the eggs straight from the hen's butt, as a small child, would commence. The chatting would continue in the market, after I had finally successfully managed to drag my parents away from the Church. Chatting, mostly with elderly men I had never met before.
So I knew I would have to wait longer for the chocolate egg to unveil its surprise. Back in the chalet, I would have to help my dad set the table, while my mom was cooking lunch. I would then have to wait for my parents' sonnellino (the Italian siesta) to finish. And, at times, I would also have to wait for the random visitor bringing yet another colomba (Easter cake) to my parents and going through all our family pictures before I was allowed to open the egg.
Finally. The egg, yes, and how disappointing. Many times the surprise was not good. My mom was the one to blame. To give you an idea, once the surprise in the egg was an antique decorative object for my bedroom. I have just found out that it was not my mom who was carefully opening the egg with a knife to put the surprise inside the egg but my dad, who was apparently giving the surprise to the baker so she would put it inside in a professional way, just before sealing the egg with extra chocolate.
So Tronk is lucky. Not only he was allowed to open his egg early in the morning on Easter Sunday but he was also thrilled when he saw the surprise. What four year old would not go crazy for a pirate set?
Tronk: Non puoi avere il tesoro, mamma. Solo io e daddy abbiamo accesso ai soldi. Solo gli uomini possono toccare i soldi.
Mamma: E mamma niente?
Tronk: Ma mamma, il cuore e' il tuo tesoro!
Tronk: You cannot have the treasure, mom. Only daddy and I have access to it. Only the men can touch the money.
Mamma: And me, your mom?
Tronk: But mom, your heart is your treasure!
