Everyone has always said she had her father's eyes.
When she was little she thought that was silly. Why would they say she had her daddy's eyes? Because they were her eyes, of course. How could she have her father's eyes? Whose eyes did he have if she had his? That's just silly.
But as she grew older she realized what people meant. That her eyes just looked like her father's. They were the same size, same shape. They were the same colour. She always thought it was funny that she looked just like her momma, but with her daddy's eyes. And her little brother looked just like their daddy, but with their momma's eyes. Like someone got them all mixed up or something.
Now that she's even older, she hopes she truly has her father's eyes. Not just in looks, but in outlook. She hopes she can see the world as he does. She hopes she can see people the way her father sees people.
When someone in town needs help, he's one of the first ones to volunteer. Not because he feels he needs to, but because that's the right thing to do. When he found out the children from the Community Home needed food, he was the first to send over extra bread from the bakery, no questions asked, no strings attached. Whenever Haymitch needs something, it's her father who helps out (mostly because her mother gets annoyed with Haymitch more so than not). Her mother joins in eventually, but it's second nature for her father to do something. He doesn't even think about it, he just does it.
Her mother is always so guarded, always so cautious when it comes to others. It isn't that she doesn't understand why her mother is the way she is. She knows all about the Hunger Games, and the Revolution, and the Mockingjay. She knows how her mother feels about that time in their lives. She knows why her mother is wary of strangers and anything that comes from the Capitol, or even other District's- especially 13. But even though she knows all of this, she still hopes she has her father's eyes.
Her father is more trusting. He's more willing to open up to new people. Her father lived through the Games with her mother. He was a prisoner of war, tortured, hijacked, even trained to hate her mother-which she finds totally unthinkable. And yet, after it is all over, after he has worked and struggled to become the man he is now, he still trusts others. He says he can't live any other way. He can't imagine that everyone has an agenda. If he did, he might still be the crazy one rotting away in the Capitol. He has to embrace life, embrace others, embrace hope. He has to.
So when her mother starts worrying about something she's seen on television, or something she's heard around town, it's her father who comforts her. When her mother wakes up screaming from the nightmares that still happen, it's his arms that are always there to comfort her. It's her father who still tells her mother it's going to be OK. Reminds her how they've made it, how far they've come. Reminds her of the family and the life they've built together. Her mother always calls him her "dandelion" because he gave her hope when they were kids, when they were in the Games, when he came home after the War, and especially when she found out she was pregnant. He still gives her hope, every day. He reminds her of the book. How they promised to live a life that honours everyone they've lost, how life has to go on to give it all meaning.
She wants to be a dandelion, just like her father. She wants to be someone full of hope and promise.
She wants to truly have