November 5, 2010

• I’m wondering if I made the right decision. Sure, it was long ago, and I know it doesn’t do a bit of good to look back and question now…but, today I started to wonder again…did I do the right thing?

  It was twenty-five years ago, and I was still a very young wife and mother. In fact, my youngest was only six years old–yes, I was still setting up booths at Halloween carnivals and going to junior high basketball games and hosting sleepovers for preteens and driving my children back and forth to school every day. We were raising crops and cattle back then, on a flat-land farm, far from family. I was a fulltime go-fer for my farmboy, and he kept me hopping. Life was busy, to say the least.

  And I was faced with a big decision. Should I or shouldn’t I? No, it wasn’t some earth-shattering, life-changing decision I faced, even though lots of women I knew were making those. This was a bit more elemental. To color or not to color–that was the question!

  I’m talking about hair here. There I was, at the ripe old age of 33, going gray!

  I read somewhere that there is no such thing as gray hair. A dark hair doesn’t begin to fade, gradually losing its color. It simply falls out as dark and comes in as white. Sometimes lots of one’s hairs lose their color at about the same time, and the bearer seems to suddenly wake up with a head full of white hair. Most of the time, though, it is a gradual process, slowly changing from dark to white, giving the appearance of gray during that transition time.

  For me, it happened quickly, though not overnight. And most women don’t start at 33. But I did. In fact, by the time I was 35, I was half white. And by the time I was 45, I was almost fully white. Now that I’m–older–I’m still almost fully white, but I’ve retained this dark fringe at the nape, as a faithful and constant reminder of the good old days. My hair was really dark. So the contrast was obvious.

  But back to my decision. I don’t think there was ever that fateful moment, a single point in time when I said, “No, I’m not going to do it. I’m just going to let nature take its course.” For me, it just happened. Like I said, I was busy–too busy to think of Lady Clairol or L’Oreal or whatever other brands there are. Who knew that my particular head of hair would turn more rapidly than the heads of my friends? I just went on, doing what I did, and my hair just went on doing its thing, and soon ten years had passed, and by then the whites outnumbered the darks, big time.

  When I looked in that mirror-that-doesn’t-lie at 45 and saw mostly white, I gulped. Forty-five is still young! Too young for white hair? Maybe….but who says? By then my life had changed. Two kids were now out of college, and the youngest was on her way. One girl was even getting married…which meant that grandchildren (!!!!!) might not be too far in the distant future. At that point, at least I’d feel that I’d earned the white. So I did what I do best…just went with the flow, doing my life-thing and letting my hair take its course.

  Fast forward a few (quite a few) more years, and we’re up to today. I got up this morning, showered and dried my hair. Got dressed–put on my uniform (jeans and long-sleeved t-shirt) and looked in the mirror. And saw white. White hair, white skin, white t-shirt. And that long-buried doubt reared its ugly head again.

  I looked at myself and tried to imagine: what would I see looking back at me if I’d colored my hair, all those years ago, at 35? Would my life be different? Then I faced the hard, cold truth. Knowing me, I’d be looking at roots growing out, wondering when in the world I’d find the time for a touch-up. Knowing me, I’d have been really dark-dark this week, really faded and washed-out last month, never the same, always a hair mess. Nope, hair color never was for me.

  So, I smiled at myself (smiling makes everything look better, even white-haired women of a certain age), chose a brighter shade of lipstick, put on a touch more blush…and convinced myself, once again, that  I’d done the right thing, all those years ago. That’s me I see in the mirror–the real me. Take it or leave it.

  There’s one real upside to my no-color commitment: think of all the money I’ve saved through the years. I hear a hair-color job at the beauty shop can be $75 these days. How much yarn would that buy??? Enough to keep my hands busy for a good, long while…and I’d much rather knit than worry about roots.

   

   

   

   

  • 6:49 pm
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