My dad’s are hazel. A clay colored ring filled with mossy but also kind of milky green, skinny but smooth brown spears shot through his pupil-- they match the camo he is shielded with. They’re laser focused down the wooden barrel of his shotgun. The soft skin around them wrinkle into three long creases, shaking hands with his hairline. They squint as he pulls the trigger.

My freshman brother’s are seemingly bipolar. One day, they’re grass with a vortex of sapphire in the middle-- others, they’re a mesmerizing turquoise tossed with teal. They reflects Joey’s personality, as he’s still trying to figure out who he wants to be. They’re saucers and although he wouldn’t admit it, they’re shaped like my dad’s-- among the other abundant traits they share.

Ellie, barely a teenager, has the darkest of us all. They’re like olive orbs with a dash of emerald are almond shaped. They follow the leathery-white volleyball around the court, darting back and forth.

Mine, mine are a true green. They are a concoction of Joey’s and Ellie’s, round and marble-ish but more green than blue.

But my mother’s-- my mother’s are void of any green. She meticulously but machine-like folds towels as she gazes at the TV, muscle-memory serving her right. They’re columbia blue but icy-- they squint as she laughs at the television and her long, enviable eyelashes blink together.

From green grass to blue sky-- we’re family.