Reflections

Look close. Make sure you see. Look deep into the mirror and tell me who's looking back. Is it your father's nose, your mother's eyes? The thoughts you have-do they come from your grandfather or a great aunt who passed on long ago?
When I whistle it's my mom doing dishes at the kitchen sink. When I laugh a hearty laugh it's Dad in there, and when I giggle my brother Carl comes back to life. If I belch out loud, well please forgive me, but it's Nanny letting me know she's still there.
When I ride my bike that childhood joy that rushes through me; is it Uncle Pat calling, urging me on, convincing me to never ever truly grow up?
When I prefer to be left alone, that desire to be apart from the world must be Grandmom Woodward speaking, or is it Dad's real father coming out from behind the shadows?
Where does that fear come from, and why have we let it hold us back?
When I'm stubborn, is it Mom or is it Dad, or is it a little of both, or is it a legacy of stubbornness, coming from way back, from someone I'll never know?
When I lose my temper, I know it's my father, and I remind myself so.
I look at the portrait of my Pop-Pop Gardner and I see the face of my cousin Ronnie, and in an early photograph of him, just the slightest hint of me, so I know we're all the same.
My cousin Charlie smiles up from the family album, and when he does, there I am, just as happy as he.
Listen close, and when you sing do you hear your mother's voice, and when you decide not to buy that television until it goes on sale, well is that your parents thinking, always reminding you to spend your money wisely and well?
What do you like and what do you hate? How do you view the world you see?
Where does it all come from and from whom?
We don't notice it all when we're nine years old.
We don't quite know just what we are and where we've come from or who we're going to be.
But deep inside it's not just you.
It's them: it's all your family.