My 8-year-old daughter dyed her hair black last week in preparation for Halloween.
Given that my hair was once black (before it turned grey), she asked me if I would dye my hair, too. Previously, my children had decided that I would dress up as a basketball player for Halloween; by adding black hair, and black-painted fingernails, I became a Goth basketball player.
So, last night, my wife dyed my hair jet black. When I looked in the mirror, I wondered who this imposter was. I missed my greyness. I worried hard to attain all those grey hairs.
But then, as I walked my daughter to school this morning, a neighbor noticed that we were both sporting black hair and wondered what was up. I responded by saying that I wanted to be like my daughter. She looked up at me, beaming.
Now, as I embark on washing my hair several times a day, impatiently waiting for my normal hair color to return, I’ll remember her smiling face at that moment and not feel so bad.