Louisiana Chicory

Even as a newborn, my mom said that my eyes were dark brown. I get it honest, a majority of the Watsons and Arringtons have dark hair and dark eyes. We also have some Native American blood in our veins, so it makes sense.

She recalls people always commenting on my big, brown eyes. Of course, that was the pronounced thing about me. I was basically bald until I was two. She had to pierce my ears to keep people from constantly thinking I was a boy.

When my sister was born, she had the most beautiful blue eyes. She was only one of maybe a handful throughout four generations in our family to have blue eyes. I was so jealous. She had the unusual eyes in my family. I just had plain, old, boring brown.

In 2005, I was working as a cashier when Hurricane Katrina came through. Even in North Central Florida, we had people flocking in from Louisiana. Some of their homes had been destroyed. Some were not sure of what they would find upon returning. My heart was breaking for them.

An older man, walking with a cane, walked in one day. I rang him up. When he opened his mouth, the sweetest Creole accent came out. He said, “You have the most beautiful eyes. They’re the color of Louisiana Chicory. They remind me of home.”

Never have I been so thankful that my eyes were brown.