Memories In Wrinkles

One of my favorite things to do with my grandfather when i was a young child was to slide my little hand over his brow. It was no ordinary forehead, it resembled an old-fashioned washing board, especially when he arched his eyebrows. My mother's father was a quiet man, often dominated by his wife, so it was lovely for me to connect to him in this little game. I loved the feel of the grooves his forehead produced and he was one of very few people who's company i enjoyed without any pressure to speak. So there we be, a strange pair, a little girl sitting next to an elderly man, tracing the grooves of his forehead. Even when i grew up, i would sometimes touch his forehead and he always complied in making the wrinkles stand out.

In my family we have come to the consensus that overall the look of my sister and i fall towards my father's side. Yet the other day i was sitting opposite my Mother and happened to arch my eyebrows.

"Look at those lines on your forehead. I think it might be time to start taking care of your skin better."
"You mean anti-wrinkle cream?! But i'm in my early twenties!" I said indignantly.

But in the back of my mind it was kind of nice to know there was a little bit of my grandfather in me. And all i had to do was lift my eyebrows and run my hand down my brow to remember how wonderful it was to have such a loving person in my life.