Did you ever know a kid who didn't like Easter? I was that kid.

I loved the plastic eggs, baskets and chocolate bunnies: it was the hard boiled eggs that I couldn't take. My mother used to make us eat the eggs we colored when we were done with them. Hard boiled eggs ... egg salad ... yuch. I hated eggs.

I still don't know why. We weren't so that poor that we coulnd't afford to toss a few eggs into the trash. My mom would toss apples and banannas when they were old. She was just hung-up on the hard bolied egg thing.

• One year I decided not to color any eggs. Too bad: the family is having egg salad sandwiches. Eat 'em or miss lunch.
• Okay ... I'll miss lunch. No problem: your sandwich will still be there at dinner.
• I can miss both lunch and dinner ... we'll save you an egg for breakfast.

As an adult, I refuse to eat hard-boiled eggs. But I still get that funny feeling around Easter.

Isn't it amazing how much your child-hood shapes you as a person forever.