I have a new streak of gray in my hair. It starts just to the right of my widow’s peak and arches down the front curl of my short winter haircut. We’re attributing this streak to Benjamin, by the way.
My gray hairs have always been silver, not dingy or dull. When I was a teenager, I had a lot of gray, and my aunt suggested I color it, so I did for several years. Then I grew older, moved away to college, and had an irreparable break with my aunt. I stopped coloring my hair and found that it was no longer gray. My relationship with my aunt ended and subsequently my hair stopped going prematurely gray. You can connect the dots in whatever way you want.
I went through my twenties and half of my thirties with dark, dark brown hair. A few years ago, however, the silver hairs began to appear. That’s what hair does after a certain age. I notice that the women around me have no gray, and I can only conclude that many of them color it. That’s cool.
But I have beautiful silver, and I’m not touching it. I have never had pretty hair. It’s thin and fine, and if it weren’t for the wave, it would hang limply by my face, daring me to attempt remediation. I’m not a pretty woman, in fact. I’m in good shape and reasonably even-featured, but I’ve never been the kind of woman whose face stops presses and turns heads. I was cute when I was younger. Now, I look like a woman of my age, with the accompanying looser skin on my neck and an annoying tendency towards adult acne.
My silver, however, is gorgeous. I love to see the strands in my dark hair as I pass a mirror. And now I have a streak. An honest-to-goodness silver streak in the front of my hair. There are compensations to growing older.
Also compensations to children who turn your hair gray.