My family has been blessed with deep blue eyes. My fathers are as tired as a week-long vacation but soft like a summer storm. A quiet blue dances across his eyes. My mother's eyes are as interesting as the stain glass windows from her church in small town Iowa. Her eyes so full and fun, once wild now wise, with a gracious tint of green.

A blonde haired boy, a mix between my parents has the best gift of all. Bulging blue eyes, as warm as the sky on a clear day. As dark and dusty as the gravel roads become before a tornado. The wonder, courage, the excitement bouncing in his perfectly innocent blue eyes are as wild as the fields outside our property. Jealous of my perfect little brother's brilliant blue eyes, mesmerizing around his boyish smirk.

Then there's me, my eyes are not like my parents. My eyes are as green as the trees in the summer, but as clear blue as Lake Michigan. My eyes are mixed, as radiant as the sun a deathly stare of hazel. Mixed together like Beaver Lake, my eyes are not a stop and stare blue. I was not blessed with the perfectly, handcrafted blue my family has gotten.