My mom, my sister, and my aunts (my mom’s sisters) all have the same voice. I can remember having both aunts visit us one summer, and they were all in the kitchen downstairs while I was upstairs getting ready. I couldn’t tell them apart. When one spoke, I couldn’t tell who was speaking. I know my daughters’ voices. I can distinguish their cries from other kids’ on a playground or in their Sunday school classes. My husband has a deep, bellowing voice with a hint of a Boston accent. We know the voices of those we know the best, even with our eyes closed.