Your mom flipped through birthday cards, sliding them up and down quickly but carefully out of and into their spots on the store rack. She ignored your dad as he opened (and left open a little too long) cards that played Taylor Swift songs. "Check this out," he said, opening and closing one of them rapidly so that the card's song started over and over. "It's the remix!"
Your dad stared at you. He stood in Funny, you were seated in the cart at Anniversary For Her. Seasonal displays of Halloween candy -- Junior Mints, Dum Dums, Dots -- sandbagged the opposite side of the gift card aisle. And your striking blue eyes continued to strike your dad. Two ladies dressed in church casual clothes and yellow jewelry stopped to admire you.
"Look at those eyes," one of them said. "They're so blue." She craned her neck towards your dad. "Do you have blue eyes?" she asked him.
"Um, no," your dad said. His brown eyes looked at the floor.
She started to walk away when your dad called after her, weakly, "But her grandparents do. Fifty percent of them." He was pretty sure she didn't hear him.
Earlier that week, the Director of Inventory Planning passed by your dad's cubicle. "Wow," the director said. "Look at those blue eyes." Your dad sat back in his chair to afford the director a full view of his computer's wallpaper: a blown-up, hi-res image of your face, eyes bright, and yes, eyes blue, as blue as the middle of a rainbow.
"You know," the director said, and began running off biological statistics regarding brown eyes versus blue eyes.
"So you're saying I should order a DNA test?" your dad joked.
"Ha ha ha," the director laughed, and continued towards his previously scheduled meeting.
"They just skipped a generation," your dad called after him.
