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A Genetic Anomaly

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Every holiday it happens. The family gets together with their bright blue eyes and their corn-tassel hair. Everybody that is, except me. Me, the one with hair like coiled springs and eyes too dark to (possibly) fit in. I look around me and think, why don’t I have these beautiful blue eyes? Or at least, why can’t I have the same color hair? I couldn’t even dare to be different; I was just born this way.

My uncles will tease and joke, “Hey, there, Misfit!” And we all laugh, but still I can see they are right. I’m a multiple choice problem, the “which one doesn’t belong” girl.

As I’ve gotten older, I’ve come to terms that I will never look like them. I will never have the blonde hair (unless it’s out of a bottle). I will never have the naturally blue eyes. It doesn’t bother me anymore. Now, it’s just something to laugh about during long Christmas dinners and lively Easter brunches. Before I leave, I’ll always take one last look at my family, chuckle to myself, and walk quietly out the door.





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