Monday, October 06, 2008
My daughter has the most interesting color eyes. They are a combination of both of her brother's eyes. The green that makes up most of the iris is from W. and the traces of brown surrounding the pupil are from T. I guess you could say her eyes are hazel.
Eyes, for me, are the first thing I notice on a person. They can say a lot about someone. You can show no emotion on your face, but your eyes can't seem to hide what you are feeling. They can be sad or they can smile.
They can also be terrifying. My father had those type of eyes. The ones that bore into you. Ones that looked at you, as he ranted, and made you stay put in your place. No matter how much you wanted to run and hide. I would stay planted where I stood, frozen. Sometimes for hours. And though I still don't understand it, his eyes always found mine. No matter who the target of his anger was directed at, he'd always make that contact with me. It still remains a mystery to me. It still makes me shiver.
I love my daughter's big, beautifully colored eyes. But every so often, a certain glance or expression will look at me, and for a split second, I will see him. It sends a chill up my spine.
I hate that he is a part of her. I hate that no matter how hard I try to keep him out of my life, he will always be there, in her eyes.