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June 17, 2009 > The eyes of my father

The eyes of my father

Submitted By Laurieanne Reardon

I was standing in the backyard leaning by the barbecue pit on a bright sunny day when I saw a man walking toward me with a big smile on his face. He was an older man with brown skin and a head full of silver hair. I say silver instead of gray because of the way it glowed with the sun shining.

He waved at someone and I looked at his hands. They were rough hands; hands that appeared to have experienced many calluses because of many years of hard work.

As he walked toward me I could see his eyes, and I saw that they were tired. They also appeared to have seen a life full of joys, sorrows, hard work and love. Experienced eyes, I guess.

As he got closer I could see the tiny lines around his eyes, lines that had to come from years of smiling. I could not help but wonder what this man had experienced to get those eyes with the tiny lines around them.

What was he all about? What had he seen? What had he done in his lifetime? Why did I care?

The curiosity was really getting to me. Should I stop him and ask? How rude would that be? Why was I so interested in this stranger?

It hit me just as he came up and hugged me. These were the eyes that for 43 years I looked to, full of questions. These were the eyes of knowledge. These were the eyes of love.

These were the eyes of my father.

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