Brown Is The Color
And so I am wondering, how many posts can I write about sitting on the beach eating tacos?
Instead I shall condense the whole trip into this:
I love my son, The Chief, you know.
I loved taking him to the same spot I vacationed as a child. I loved making sandcastles for him to destroy. I loved seeing him splashing about in the ocean. I even loved chasing away
sand dust out of his loaded diapers.
But this trip I could not get over his brown eyes.
After being birthed, I looked in my son's eyes and knew they'd be brown. I fought armies of well wishers who foretold of a little blue eyed boy in my sleepy newborn. Uncles held him up to the sunlight, Aunts shook their head. No one believed me that the stone-colored eyes would turn dark.
But they did. Around six months they deepened into a rich brown as his hair turned blond. Brown eyes and blond hair have always been the wish of my heart. (I see now it's even better when your personal wish is instead given to your child.)
One night this past week, the three of us sat on the beach viewing the sunset. A gorgeous sun that melted into the placid Pacific. But I was restless. I could not decide which glory of God to watch, the dissolving sun or my son's eyes in the fading golden light. Perhaps overly poetic, but nonetheless, true.
Some days later--when we weren't eating tacos--we went to a restaurant to dine in. As we walked to our table a lady stopped, looked into The Chief's eyes and said,
"Those are beautiful brown eyes. They are just like two Junior Mints and I want to eat them."
We had a great time on our vacation, we really did, but that moment will always be the best part.
