Photo by Syuhei Inoue on Unsplash

In the courtship of their youth, both my parents were beautiful and neither of them cared. My father was a gift from the Aryan gods, in his Lacoste polos, while my mother was all 70s Italian elegance. A Mediterranean marvel with her jet black hair, short and chic, and velvet brown irises that only appeared darker in contrast to the bright whites of her eyes that matched the pearls of her teeth. I know looks don’t matter, but my mother was stunning, and I’m…