First, NEVER TAKE your dog kite flying, especially if he is old and slow. Second, beware of cute pastel-coloured gifts.

Home made versus store bought. During another time in another era, every family (ours included) made their own kites. It was very rare to see a store bought mass-manufactured kite. Plus, while commercially produced kites were simply spectacular to the eye, they cost lots more and didn’t always fly, not like the lovingly made-at-home ones.

We were envious, too, thinking that the store-bought connotation was an indication that ‘those people’ had the extra cash to afford such a thing. It never occurred to us that some families took expediency over tradition because they worked constantly to keep the family budget above water. They didn’t have the time or the energy to make a kite.

Kite making and flying is one of the most exciting, fun projects for children of all ages. The entire project imparts very subliminally, some tremendous educational lessons — the most important one to learn is, after you build it, will it fly? And there were other lessons.

• Relationship building and networking. You had to be extra nice and respectful to your older brothers, sisters, uncles, aunties, etc as that individual, deemed the most experienced in the family pool as regards kites, was needed to cut the kite sticks — just the right lengths, and weight, as well as providing the u-shaped crown to hold the kite neck.

• Ingenuity, overcoming frustration, and the determination to succeed. All lessons in trying and trying again. You had to be very patient, and committed to make a kite. The strings around the borders had to be tied just so tight. The tissue paper had to be cut just so, glued on carefully. No gaps or tissue holes allowed, otherwise, cut and reglue — start at square one again. One year, we used flour and water glue; the ants later had a glue dinner. The next day, paper detached from the kite in mid-flight on its first launch. Tears and lots of wailing abounded.

• Aerodynamics, weather patterns, and geometry. As a child, you didn’t quite understand the weather patterns, but you knew there had to be a prevailing steady wind. Gusts, downdrafts, and no breeze simply would not work to take it airborne. Geometrically, a simple kite is a quadrilateral with two sets of congruent adjacent sides. The angle of the lead kite string had to be just so, in relation to the amount of rag-tail tied on. Too high an angle against the header along with too little anchor tail, and your kite took one major swoop and plunged to earth — done for.

One year, good Friday Kite flying day dawned as a breezy great day. Our dog went with us. Everyone was so excited, carefully carrying our kites, trekking up on the hill — over Grape Bay to huge open fields (non-existent today) with no interference from power lines. It was a considered feat to launch that kite upwards. Could we stay all day, sailing our kites? Once up, sometimes, kites stayed up for days.

And the supreme satisfaction, for a child. You did it from start to finish. You built it, you strung the strings, you cut out and glued up the paper, and miracle of miracles — IT FLEW.

Our kites were laying on the ground while we sorted out the string, sticks and rag tails. One by one, the kites got launched. Then, it was my turn — as I went to pick it up, Mr Dog took it upon himself to just casually stroll right across the top. My kite, so laboriously put together, full-of-holes, in ruins! More tears, more wailing. That kite wasn’t going anywhere that Good Friday. Mr Dog never went with us again.

Easter Sunday breakfast was special — those wonderful, soft, doughy, hot cross buns — straight from Crow Lane Bakery, accompanied sometimes with bacon for the special occasion. Our mother was a good cook but she did not even try to emulate those buns.

A treasured gift was a crystallised sugar egg with an Easter scene visible through the cut-through cellophane window on the side. We hung onto those sugar eggs all day, refusing to succumb to the emotive pleasure of pure sugar crunch. Once, I hoarded mine for a few weeks. When finally, it was time for the last vestige of Easter sweets, the egg had absorbed the humidity of its surroundings, turned mouldy and was complete fodder for the local ant population.

Easter Sunday Church was a parade of colours, hats, and new get-ups. Thousands of Bermuda families made their own clothes. It was beautifully routine in large families that every child was dressed in matching homemade outfits — in our family, dresses for the girls, and Easter tartan vests for the boys.

The festive dinner of a big ham and pineapple, mashed potatoes, peas from a can and the eagerly anticipated Easter candy was treasured. Peeps (candy) were a huge favourite. Eating them now, the instant sugar rush is almost dizzying and more than a bit nauseating from the insulin reaction that follows.

Ducks in a showy row. Another Easter probably in a cost-saving exercise, our Dad gave us some tiny ducklings to raise — lined up in an egg carton peeping. Wonders! They were dyed, just like Easter peeps, pink, green, blue, yellow, purple, so small, so cute. Faster than a young child can conceptualise, there came the inevitable day when the ducklings, one by one on Sunday, they became Peking-duck dinner. To this day, even a sophisticated diners label touting Duck L’Orange has never had any appeal.

Easter, Christmas, any holiday that is celebrated with family, becomes an event to build friendship, re-establish relationships, caring support for one another and the wonderful feeling of a family together.

Treasure tradition. It doesn’t matter if gifts and projects are store-bought or homemade, what matters the most is that the tradition of peace, love, and understanding is shared within your family and our island community.

Happy Easter, Bermuda.