“Papa, do our eyes ever
grow?”
“Hmm.”
The grandfather placed his coffee cup down and peered out from behind his
newspaper. “I’m not sure.”
“Do
you think the more things we see the bigger they grow?” His grandfather looked
long and hard at the boy and then tapped his fingers along the kitchen table in
thought.
“If
that is true then my eyes would be very big now wouldn't they be?” The boy took
a good look at his grandfather. He had hooded eyes with thin rippled wrinkles
along every edge and corner of his face. A scar ran through his left eyebrow
and drew attention to his grey, fogged over irises. His bottom lip quivered and
the only thing that seemed to stop it from doing so was by taking another sip
of coffee. He had a scruffy looking face that made a loud scratching noise
whenever he had an itch. There was a lot to him. It was almost as if every
wrinkle on his face was a chapter of a book that couldn't be read for a very
long time.
“Papa,
I want my eyes to be just as big as yours one day.” The boy stated proudly. His
grandfather put his paper down and let it rest on his crossed legs.
“My
boy, I could only pray that your eyes stay as small as they are now.”
“But
what if they start to grow?” The young boy asked concerned.
“Squint.”
His grandfather laughed as he picked up his paper and began to read again.
