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My Father's Eyes

No one wants brown eyes but my father had kind of brown eyes that you would envy— golden like the sun. When they caught the light, they would almost shine. My mother would never shut up about them. She has bright blue eyes—the kind that everyone wishes they had, the kind that are compared to ocean waves. Despite this fact, she always said she wanted eyes like my father’s. My brother’s eyes imitate neither of our parents. With waves of green and brown, his hazel eyes intrigue everyone who is careful enough to notice them. They are quiet and shy, but are truly captivating if you happen to get a glimpse.
My father’s eyes reflected almost perfectly to mine. In fact, so much so that the song “brown eyed girl” became a family favorite in our household. They imitate the gentle nature of my father and all the incredible things he stood for. They imitate the glossy brown of his guitar he used to play me before I went to sleep every night. They imitate the wood of our coffee table in the house I grew up in—where we would eat breakfast on the weekends and pizza every friday night while my mother was at work.  My father’s eyes were a captivating beauty that I carry with me every day.




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