One With Brown Eyes.. One With Green

My mom was born in Memphis, Tennessee.  I don't know much about that side of my family. She was an only child and we lived in California and we didn't go back to visit often.  I was looking through an old box of photographs this morning and came across this one from one of those rare trips to Memphis. For some reason, it made me linger.  It tells a story... my story, in so many ways. Two of my brothers are with me in the picture and a little girl from my mother's family, I never really knew. My brothers were the focus of my thoughts this morning.  

We do not choose the family we are born into.  It comes together in all sorts of ways before we are ever even cognizant of a universe outside the ones holding us. Believe me, it falls apart in all sorts of ways too.  I like to think there is some order, some purpose, some reason and sense to it all, but maybe there isn't.. I just don't know.  Dad has brown eyes, mom has green.  We are echoes.

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There were times I am sure I felt wild and free... where I wore purple with style and carried a spanking awesome purse and strutted the knee high boots like a runway model.  This picture is evidence. A time where I existed for the joy of it. Money meant nothing to me.. it was irrelevant. So was recognition... heck, we played with the faces in front of us, we fought and wrestled and kissed and made up, knocked each other down, picked each other up and we just lived. It really wasn't all that complicated.

I'll be 48 tomorrow.  But I'll also be six. Maybe that doesn't make any sense to anyone but me.  But she was cool and she's a part of me just as much today, as she was on that porch 42 years ago.  And so are those boys... one with brown eyes, one with green.