Monday, October 18, 2010
When I was young, my hair was the color of certain kinds of red maples this time of year. It stood out. Church ladies whispered that it must be dyed because it was so vivid, and every boy who wrote in my senior yearbook remarked about my hair. I thought the church ladies were euphemistically criticizing my looks in general, and I thought the boys were just being kind. In those days, anything that set me apart was cause for alarm and only increased my shyness and pushed me further inward. Now that my hair is more the color of dried leaves than the October Glory it used to be, I think back and wish I had appreciated my hair and learned to blossom a little. So when I see an insecure kid I want to get in her face and tell her to embrace her differences, that she is beautiful and not to be afraid to shine. The crunch of dry brown leaves comes soon enough.