My mother’s frosty blue eyes reflect the sky on a sunny day, illuminating kindness to the children at HS Elementary school, where they run like wild animals, where teachers run even faster to catch up-- where my eyes were trained; trained to learn, love, and live happily.

My father’s eyes resemble a deep-emerald green, as if it’s the only color in the room, as if his wisdom shot whoever looked his way. My father’s eyes are caring and sympathetic; but when I took out the car in the midst of a snow-storm, I saw the same emerald green eyes, this time more harsh, staring into my soul.

My brother’s eyes are like mine, as if a color wheel mixed together in an oversized-pot. However, the artist chose a different section for him, because for him, his dusty-green eyes allow him to see the life that he is miraculously living. This artist’s creation spends a lot of time scanning his laptop screen, scramming to do homework, but even more time showing off the blueish-green, hazel rimmed masterpieces with the blink of his right eye, and only his right eye, and only to certain people.

My eyes are blue but not the kind that are easy to describe, my eyes can be green, or hazel, or brown. My eyes can change from kind to determined, sympathetic to deserving--- and probably end up back at kind. My eyes resemble my family, like all our traits were rolled up and squashed into one big ball. I never liked my eyes. I never liked how they were different. I only like what they represent; carrying my family with me, wherever my blue eyes take me.