Everybody has a unique set of eyes. My mothers hair are dark brown, like an old leather sofa. Mine, mine are hazel. They show a light brown center with flares like that of the sun. Then green like the skin of a bright frog, grips to the brown. My eyes speak my past, and show my emotion. Aidan’s eyes shine, like Lake Michigan on a bright summer day. And Adam, whose eyes pierce you like a bullet from a rifle.      

But my father’s eyes, my fathers eyes, like turquoise gems, like an open ocean and soft because of the love in his eyes as he sees his children, warming to look into as he hugs you, making sure you’re okay, beautiful blue eyes that can heal you when you’re hurt, cheer you up when you’re sad. His eyes are his story, his love. His life, his family.