My family. My family wears glasses— big, small, round, square, oval. My dad’s glasses are square. Square and clean cut, like his job. Always professional, always neat, always organized. Never smudged, they are clearer than the windows of his car after a wash. My mom’s glasses are round. Intricate. Included in the design is a stem. A stem of roses, like the ones she grows in the yard. A stem that twists and twists, always working to grow bigger.

My sister’s glasses rotate between frames every other day. One day they’re oval, one day they’re square. One day they’re there, and one day they’re not. Always fogged up, always scratched. Replaced as quickly as she finishes her next book. My glasses are rarely seen. As dirty as a muddy spring driveway. No wonder they’re never worn. Square but rounded, dark and smooth. Minimalistic and not out of the ordinary. My brother doesn’t wear glasses. While his vision is clear, his head is always spinning. Usually focused on games. Rarely focused on anything else.