When I look at my grandmother’s face, I notice a pair of kind, tired eyes. They are olive with a touch of aqua. Her eyes remind me of the ocean, how it flows, and every wave is a different shade of turquoise. Her eyes forever change from a misty rainforest green to a cloudy indigo day. They are beautiful like butterflies flying down a rainbow.
When I think about my understanding mother, the image of her slender fingers slides into my mind. They are soft and generous fingers that touch and handle feelings with care. Her comforting touch heals.
As I study my father, I see that his forehead is always wrinkling. It crinkles a lot because he is usually outside squinting at the sun as he cuts trees down. The exploding rays of the sun always sting at his eyes. He works his hardest to take care of us.
The first thing I see when I peer at my sister is her small nose. It is round like a button that escaped off my dad’s shirt. Her nose was the first thing that I ever noticed about her when she was born. This is my favorite thing about my baby sister. I hope it doesn’t ever change.
This is an extraordinary family. This is my family.