Guest Post: Defining Moments - Getting Older

I have been a red head my whole life. Growing up it was a source of pain and ridicule. I guess I was an easy target and my hair gave them a focus.  I hated my hair for a long time because of it. I thought it was the reason I had so many problems growing up.

My best friend from Junior High told me, after we had known each other for years, she hadn’t wanted to like me because of my hair. She didn’t like red hair or those that had it. I don’t remember why.  She said she liked me in spite of my hair.

As I grew up into a young adult I started to appreciate my hair a little more; I received many nice comments. Once in a store, while kneeling looking at a purse, a couple of older women were talking about my hair and suddenly I felt a hand brush down my hair. The woman said she just had to know what it felt like. 

I never thought of myself as pretty. I grew to think the only special thing about my looks was my hair, long wavy/curly and red. At some point I started noticing men double taking, actually it was usually my friends noticing. 

“Hey, did you see that guy looking at you?”

“No, but it is probably just because of my hair.” I would say and brush it off. The funniest time it happened, I was driving through a parking lot and there was a young man on his bike in front of me. He turned to look back and nearly fell off his bike from whipping his head back to get a second look. I just thought it was silly.

Now I am a grandmother, a young grandmother but older all the same. Something happens to red hair as you age that doesn’t seem to happen with other hair. Other hair gradually turns grey. Red hair fades.

My family shocked me the other day. A friend of mine had described me as a blond. BLOND? I am not a blond, ever been a blond, nor ever wanted to be a blond. My family looked at me with sad eyes and said, “You don’t have red hair anymore. It is kind of blondish brown.”

“What? Really?” I was stunned. “But I have always been a red head.” I had to literally pick my jaw off the ground.  Who was I if I wasn’t a red head? I realized how much my hair had defined who I was. I had grown to love it over the years, loved that it made me different. Now it is no longer the vibrant, beautiful red that it used to be. I was crushed. I felt as my hair faded I would fade away as well.

I would no longer be different. Oh, logically, I knew it was just a part of me. It wasn’t really who I was, at least not the important part of me. But I am going to miss it.

Morgan Dragonwillow is a lover of words, fantasy, magic, shadow, dance, children, books, all things healing and creative, and so much more. She began her writing journey at the age of eight but didn't allow herself to fully explore it until recently. She now has several blogs, helps run Story Dam, an online writing community, is currently working on a memoir and a book of personal retreats and ceremonies. She loves helping others to see their creative potential and that all things really are possible. One of her favorite quotes is, "There are short-cuts to happiness, and dancing is one of them. ~Vicki Baum  
You can find Morgan Dragonwillow happily writing and dancing at A Writer's Universe.
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