My cousins and I got our ears boxed one Easter Sunday long ago. The whipping that we deserved involved snakes. We’re not complaining. Whenever the Kass boys got together with Ekonomou boys, there was trouble, something would be broken, something would be smashed, some aunt or uncle would be at their wit’s end and the only solution was grabbing us by the ear and cracking us on the back of the head.

We called this, onomatopoetically the good old kaff-keef or better yet a hastouki. A good thwack or two with a wooden spoon or koutala wouldn’t hurt.

How did the snakes enter in on Easter Sunday? Let me tell you. We were compelled to wear our itchy Sunday Best clothes including ties, and we asked my mom if we could go on a bike ride. We rode off angelically, seven boys between the ages 8-11, to Lawn Manor Park eight blocks away. Oak Lawn was then spanking brand new, even the parks were brand new, and the open grassland was full of snakes. It was a boy’s delight.