Eyes. They are always a combination of your parents. My father has eyes that are as ice blue as the water found in the arctic ocean. They bring out the harshness of the world. They are old eyes filled with years of knowledge always giving those around him a knowing look. A knowing look that all of his children seemed to receive. Out of his three children all three of them received blue eyes.

Mine a bluish green that change with the clothes I wear. As if the were only a fashion statement to use to my disposal. When I wear green they are green, when I wear blue they are blue, and when I wear grey they are in between. And that seems to be their only special ability. My brothers one older and one younger. The older one with eyes the color of his favorite sweater and perfect combination of blue and green, never changing. Never changing is also the color of my younger brother’s eye but they are blue and grey with the same striking paleness as puzzling as my father’s, though without the years of wisdom.

My mother the special one. My mother the unique one. She is the only one to not have blue eyes. The eyes are warm and caring. A wonderfully warm hazel. With just the right amount of green and brown. She stands out because she is the most special. The one that always carefully considers all that you have to say. The one who cares about what you have to say. Because she is the unique mom that cares for her blue eyed children.