The (second) biggest reason I knew this word, this color, so well was because I recognized it on my father's head. I don't really have memory of my father without silver hair. When I was very young, he was salt & pepper but with each passing year it was much more salt than pepper. For the majority of my life, I knew I had 'my Dad's hair'. People would tell me how lucky I was when they would discuss my thick, naturally curly hair. Well, not a week after my 18th birthday, I got another taste of 'my Dad's hair' when I found my first. gray. hair. I plucked that sucker out and marched right up to him.
I waved the strand in his face and yelled, "DO YOU SEE THIS?!"
And then, he laughed at me. LAUGHED!
Looking back, I think he was laughing because he knew what the next 10 years would hold for me. Lots more where that came from. By 25, I had a noticeable amount of gray and could no longer pluck them out. So, instead, I started to color it.
Now, my hairdresser assured me years ago that my hair is not gray. She insists that gray is flat and dull. My hair is turning silver. And just over three years since the first time I colored it, I have stopped. (Which doesn't mean I won't ever again.)
A lot of people ask me why I don't color it anymore, and it's a funny thing really. A NEW thing for me. All of the sudden, out of nowhere, I decided it doesn't make my hair less pretty. Or make me look old. Or is something I should feel ashamed or embarrassed by. Quite the opposite. It's a part of me. And more importantly, its a part of my Dad, of my Gram, that I get to keep forever.
So, this morning, as I was fixing my hair, I snapped a picture. The 'silver' isn't faithful to the front of my hair anymore. It's started to sprout all over. See?
And I smiled. Because I kind of love my silver hair.