Identity

so, as I was getting myself ready for bed tonight, I looked into the mirror at myself and sighed, stopping what I was doing.

I know my name. I know my values, for the most part, and I know my goals, in the rough sense.  And I know my past.  I can fairly reliably trace my family back on both sides to before they immigrated to the US.

I can see hints of both families in my face. My mother’s nose for instance, my father’s bone structure.  People say that I look like my mother, until they see me with my father.  And then, there’s really no denying that I am their child.  No denying it at all.  Not that I want to.

My family has passed down a lot of things to me, traditions from both sides, religious and not.  Superstitions abound that have been taught to me since I was little (don’t throw away both shoes in a pair at the same time, you don’t want anybody walking in your shoes.  When you get scared, spit rapidly three times to chase the fright away).

I also lucked out and got the big boobs, the dark hair, the curls and the dark brown eyes that E loves so much.  But staring there in the mirror, looking at myself as I’m getting ready for bed, I have to wonder,

Did they have to pass down the ever present facial hair?

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