I have previously blogged about my white hair. It’s something I have and I accept it and while I have no desire to colour it, the other day a little girl was astonished by the silver in my hair.
Her: Miss you have white hair.
Me: I know
Her: Do you have a son?
Me (not really getting it but finding the situation funny): Nope.
Her: Miss, do you have a husband?
Me (laughing now): No.
Her: Then how can you get grey hair?
Her astonishment was genuine and very, very funny. I am pretty sure that her mother complains about her dad and little brother at home and it’s something this little girl has picked up.
I was speaking to my mother about this and she told me that she hates it when her white hair shows. She told me that I have youth and bravery on my side. It’s definitely true that I am younger than my mother but I don’t like this concept of vanity and bravery being inversely tied together. The more vein I am, the less brave I am? Not true and it definitely isn’t true the other way round either. I am not more brave for showing my white hair.
The fact that I wouldn’t mind going totally grey and rocking the whole Storm look doesn’t make me brave either. I don’t think it makes me anything in particular. All I am saying with my grey hair is that this is what I have chosen to do with it. All that my mum is saying with her dyed hair is that she has chosen to do this.
And that is it. It isn’t a statement of character or of moral fiber or of bravery.