I remember every Easter growing up, my neighbors would have an Easter egg hunt for all the kids in the neighborhood (of which, I was among the youngest). We didn't go every year, but I recall that one year when I was very young, we decided to attend.
Right after church (I was raised a Catholic), in my white frilly dress, white lacy socks, and white patent leather shoes, we went right to the neighbors' house. We got there, and already I was pissed: All the other kids in the neighborhood, who attended the same mass we had that morning, had gone home to change into jeans first. And I was decked in white, ready to plow through their muddy backyard for some hidden Peeps. Not that I was upset that my white lovlies would be ruined. I didn't give a crap about my white lovlies, and I usually ran upstairs upon return from church every Sunday to put on some jeans and play outside. But not this time, oh no. I would wear the white lovlies to the neighbors' and I would like it.
After a few minutes and a few late arrivals, the scavenger hunt in the backyard was set to begin. I could already spot some of the treasures: The foil of a chocolate bunny shining in the sun, the unnatural neon pink egg waiting in the grass, the celophane of the Peeps' box; they're all mine! Mr. Neighbor finally yelled "go!" and all the kids rushed toward the yard, some of them not entirely sure where they were going. I started to run right for those Peeps, but my 5ish-year-old legs didn't take me as fast as the 12-year-olds' did. Plus I was wearing a dress and couldn't run at a full sprint because it would just reveal my white bloomers. (No, I'm not 52, and no, this was not 1949).
As a result, all the other kids got to the shiny foil bunnies and neon eggs with yummies inside, and I went back to the starting line. Mr. Neighbor asked me what was wrong. I explained that I didn't want to wear the dress, and that I couldn't find anything out there. He whispered in my ear that he hid a giant chocolate egg that was bigger than my head behind the willow tree on the right side of the yard. I was sure someone had gotten to it already, but I jogged over to be sure.
When I got there, not only had no one taken the egg, but there were all sorts of other treasures next to it! I held out the outer layer of my dress and filled it with the goods. The other kids saw what I was doing, as well as my amassed treasure, and hurried over, but they were all too late. I had the golden egg, and I was overjoyed.
And that's what I think we all could use right now: A Mr. Neighbor to tell us where the good job is hidden.