Greyson’s are dark. So much so that seeing his pupils is near impossible. His rich espresso-hued eyes absorb me. They reflect his Mayan heritage and his passionate soul.
Because I can’t see any changes in his eyes I can’t read the subtle signs that I can pick up in my other kids’ eyes (also brown, but different shades). I rely on what Greyson does when I question him on something—an emotional outburst (busted), intense staring at me (guilt), or avoidance in the form of watching something like a bug on the wall, suddenly far more important than what I am talking or asking about (less than truthful). I’ve “learned” my son like any other parent learns their child, by watching carefully.
Because Greyson was harder to initially read, I came up with some interesting challenges. For example, discerning whether he was telling the truth about hand washing. What little boy wants to wash his hands? Doing so takes time away from other things Greyson could be doing, such as throwing trucks down the stairs. Frustrated after repeatedly finding out that he was, ahem…lying…about washing his hands, I asked him to lick them. That resulted in an outburst (busted) and a mad rush to the bathroom to do the deed. After several times, he turned it around.
Now when I ask about hand washing he says, “I did Mommy! Look!” and licks his palms.
Some other time I’ll tell you about the tooth brushing.