Looking in the mirror

Not your Grandma's hair

As I get older I am beginning to see family members when I look in mirrors. I check my rearview to back the car up, and my mom's eyes are looking back at me. I go to wash my face at night, and as I reach for a towel, in my peripheral vision, I see my older brother's nose in the mirror. My rotating prominent features could be effective at warding off the overly ambitious guy at a bar who comes in hot with an unremarkable compliment on being beautiful. I could simply inform him, "At the moment, you're seeing my mom. Wait ten minutes, and my dad will appear." My face is not much different than a magic eye poster, where in one moment it looks like a princess and at another moment it looks like an old lady, except it is various relatives who seem to appear and reappear.

I also notice this with my kids and young nieces. I can see their family resemblance, but only one family member at a time. My daughter, for the most part, looks so much like my dad to me, and she strangely personifies him as well; she has to be in charge and needs boss me around. If I say, "We are going to McDonalds for vanilla cones." She will say, "No! We have to go to McDonald's for vanilla cones!" And then I reply, "That sounds great. You're right, let's do that!"

My brother came to town on business, and on his night off, we sat in the backyard drinking Coors Light and smoking cigarettes. The light from inside the house was shining out onto us sitting on old iron lawn chairs with plastic straps making the seat. Under the stars and moonlight, I explained to my brother how the bare trees around our house remind me of a head of hair on an old woman, sparse and wiry. Hair that stands straight out, as if they had recently been electrocuted, but really showing they lived a life that has sent such charges through them, it is visually evident on their head.

My brother was smiling at me when I went on this belligerent rant, as if I were the Chief of a toking circle. I looked into his face, and his eyes had a twinkle, which matched the smile on his face. I said, "You have the same eyes as George." Their eyes are beautiful, and I am surprised I hadn't noticed until this moment of self-indulgent babble. They are close set, but open wide and have a wild yet confident sparkle.

My brother lives his life the way his eyes appear. His wild manners led him to being labeled "the baby" way past the point where a man, or woman, wants to be titled as such. His confidence can't be ruffled though, proven by how he can stand in front of a crowd of a hundred people and deliver a heart-felt speech off the cuff. He works hard, parties hard, and good lord, does he fall in love hard.

When I was 10 years old, my Grandpa on my mom's side died. The day we found out we were in our usual routine. With my little sister and brother in tow, we walked from the bus to our apartment. I pulled the shoestring necklace from my shirt and got hold of the key dangling from the bottom. I slid it into the keyhole and opened the door to see my mom crying on the couch. She would normally not be home for a couple hours, so I knew something was wrong.

She explained to us that her dad died. I felt the knot in my throat and knew once the water pipe burst I would not be able to stop it, so I pushed her away and went to my room. I walked out of my room a little later and could hear my brother wailing. When I peeked into his room, she was sitting on his bed and he was lying across her lap. My mom was rubbing his back as they both cried. We had been living in Germany for three years, and were just weeks from being shipped back to the states. My mom was going to leave us to go back and be with her family.

My brother was so young, and his memories of my Grandpa must have been brief. The tears he cried, so hard and loudly, were for my mom. He is a sponge of people's emotions, and perhaps that is how he does so well when he is standing on a stage. It is all the people looking at him, and all their feelings of anticipation for something interesting and exciting to come out of his mouth, which strengthen, and empowers him to deliver on these hopes.

At night as I stand in front of the mirror padding my skin dry, I look into my face, seeing family members fading in and out, and I look for that sparkle. A hopeful search that will reveal I’m like my brother, absorbent and actively receptive. Mostly though, it’s a longing to be wild.

So wild

So sweet