When I look at my wedding photos, I see a strong resemblance between my mother and me. I definitely have her eyes. My smile looks exactly like her smile when she was my age-- cheeks slightly protruding, eyes crinkling, and mouth widely smiling.
Some people in my family have said I resemble my father. I don't really see it. I definitely have his hair --- thick --- it takes an eternity to dry. Other than that, I don't see any resemblances.
It saddens me. If I looked like him, I could feel that there was a part of him within me -- basically every time I looked in the mirror.
Although I didn't know my father too long before he passed away, there's certain personality/ non-genetic traits of his that I like to think I somehow "inherited."
My mom talks about how my dad used to go to garage sales and flea markets all the time. When he passed away, apparently the basement was filled with "junk"-- my mother's words, not mine.
Somehow I think the concept of someone's "trash" being another's "treasure" has been passed down to me. I love going to garage sales, flea markets, and thrift shops. While some people consider buying things from those places as buying "used" stuff, I think it's almost a sharing experience. Case in point: I love buying a used book and seeing the lines that someone else highlighted, or the notes that were written in the margin. Sometimes when I see the highlighted lines, I ask, "Why? What's so important" and...
sometimes...even better... I say, "Yeah, I'd highlight that too."
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