Gray hairs

Why do they call gray hairs gray hairs? They're not gray. They're sparkling white highlights in a sea of chocolate. I'll never understand, but I suppose I'll let them lie.

My mom had the most beautiful gray hair-- everyone commented on it. Each strand of her hair was either inky black or dazzling white; there was no in-between. If you have gray hair like that, don't dye it. It's a crime against humanity to cover up such a lovely display of experience and wisdom.

My gray hairs are considerably less attractive than my mom's. For one, none of the gray hairs on my head will be pigeonholed into a single hair color-- instead, they hem-haw around, an inch white, and inch brown. (I have not only found six but allowed them to continue growing. I'm, like, a preservationist or something.) They're ninnies about growing up without their cloak of melanin or whatever colors hair, and they shouldn't be.

I found my first gray hair when I was 20.5 years old, and I nearly started crying when I saw it. It was a mark of barren, cold, lonely woman, and an awful personal symbol. Now almost six years later I'm surprised not at the 600% increase of known gray hairs but my serene acceptance of them... minus the mini freak-out I had during law school orientation upon discovery of the temple-dwelling gray hairs. I really do see my little white intruders as genuine signs of maturity. A semi-mastered life, even if I sometimes get the giggles when talking about "duty" too long. Even if I'm in school at age 26. And even if my hair is still dominated by brown. I'm a-growin' up into a real live woman, one in which I am proud, my family can be proud, and my mom would have bragged about to total strangers till they vomited or ran away screaming. I'd say such weighty praise (even if self-delivered; I hope you excuse me) is worth the small burden of some blossoming silver strands.