Well, we had our own hair fixations at childhood. My mother liked to split her split ends further till she got two out of one single follicle. My brother would twirl his hair strand with a passion that would put any perm treatment at a hair salon to shame. As for me, I did the most embarrassing thing. Childhood winters brought the dandruff to my hair and I had the habit of brushing it off onto dark surfaces to see the stars shine in a black sky. For the record, I don’t suffer from dandruff anymore (I had this urge to clarify that, female readers will understand)
Well, we don’t know what our dad did during childhood…whether he had any peculiar habits with hair…but it seemed that his detached perspective towards hair back then reflects in his bald head now. Mom does tell stories when he, a thirty three year old, in the monsoon wilderness of
Our strong association with hair issues continues. My mom worries about her salt and pepper hair which she skillfully masks in exotic L’Oreal shades. My brother worries about a receding hair line. I am concerned with random hair-fall seasons and count my small blessings that probably being a woman I will not have to confront classic baldness. In the meantime, my dad maintains his nonchalance about his hair and head. To make situations more complex, we worry about each other’s health of hair so that no head feels the lack of attention.
The only one to be blessed with the healthiest, shiny and thick and black hair, fur rather was our dog- Jimmy. His cousin (as we humans understand relations) Roger, boasts of an equally impressive black coat. They have made heads turn and hearts swoon in a heady mix of delight and awe. And they have solely carried the family’s name forward, when it comes to hair. If we average the hair density per capita for my family I am sure we surpass the averages.
Never undermine the importance of the black sheep (read dog) in your family. He might be your saving grace.
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