His eyes on Father’s Day

Oh, those big toddler eyes. Straight from the moon eyes. Flying saucer eyes. Eclipse eyes.

That they adore me on Father’s Day as if they don’t see me first thing every morning and last thing every night.

That I am father to them, seeing myself in them and yet seeing double as they have the hints and highlights of my wife’s love.

That I see them well up and leak little droplets of love when I carry my lunchbox out the door.

That we sneak a peek at them to thieve a look at the beauty of our history and all the people who gave us these eyes.

Those big eyes, dark like mine, trapping light and all good things, filled with everything that makes fathers glance in gratitude.

Those are not mulatto eyes, or accidental eyes, or by-chance eyes. But that they captivate me so, they are divine eyes, and by them I see the grace that carries me every day to the heavens and back.

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