Eyes and hands

The cry of the newborn filled the cold atmosphere of the maternity ward.

With that first greeting, all the tension that had built up while delivering the baby was released. The medical staff joked about the baby's lung power. The nurses discussed whether the newborn's crying meant he was hungry or cold. The father remained mute, his eyes following the movements of the nurses as they passed his child from hand to hand. With the child's cry, the mother's pain disappeared.

Anyone who has seen many newborn babies will agree that, in those first moments, all neonates, of whatever skin color, have a strong resemblance, but that is not what her family thought.

The paternal grandparents, in a kind of relentless scrutiny, recognized their own parents' ears and noses, arguing which of the two branches looked more alike.

The maternal grandparents claimed the eyes, mouth and hands. A slight protest from the paternal grandparents to this effect was immediately placated by the father who, holding the baby's tiny little hand between his big fingers, said to his wife, looking her in the eyes.

"He has your eyes and your hands, no doubt about it."

Sonia was in shock, accustomed to reasoning and trying to understand everything, she could not explain the strange feeling that settled in her as soon as the nurse put the beautiful baby boy, wrapped in the soft blanket, in her arms.

Enraptured in looking at that rosy little mouth, the brightness and the movement of the newborn's eyes, the woman had no time, nor desire, to participate in the contest of the distribution of the genetic inheritance.

"He will be called Harm, our beloved son." Sonia said.
"Harm, I am Gerolt, your daddy," said the proud father.

Harm grew up as a happy child, who imitated his father in everything during the first years, accentuating the physical resemblance with imitation of gestures.

During family parties, the paternal grandparents would tell stories of Gerolt's childhood to an admiring Harm, who wanted nothing more than to look as much like his father as possible.

One evening the boy asked when he could have an arm in a cast, like the one his father smilingly showed in an old photograph. Harm wanted to have dinner with him, to play with him, to always be by his side, to be lifted up in his arms by his father to take him to bed.

The resemblance to Sonia, who ran the kitchen of a four-star hotel, slowly reappeared during his adolescence when his taste for order, his enjoyment of artistic expressions and his vocation for cooking were revealed.

The paternal grandparents felt that the child was being given too much freedom of thought and that this could have consequences.

"Gerolt has never put on an apron," said, in a complaining tone, his mother-in-law to Sonia.

"Because he never needed to, but nothing prevents him from doing so" was Sonia's dry reply.

Harm did not neglect his school, but when he finished high school he wanted to be, like his mother, a cook. His parents supported them unconditionally.

The young man passed all the tests and was appointed sous-chef of an important kitchen. The whole family celebrated at home. The photograph Sonia treasured most showed Herm between his two parents, herself and her son in white aprons.

"What is inherited is not stolen!" the maternal grandparents repeated euphorically.

Working in the kitchen Herm met Emily. They had a courtship and planned a wedding.

Sonia and Gerolt then became aware of the speed at which time passes. Two years later they accompanied their son at the birth of their grandchild.

"She's a beautiful baby, she has ears and a nose like my mother." said Gerolt.

"Maybe, Gerolt... What I am sure of is that she has eyes, mouth and hands like me," said Sonia.