When I was a small redhead, people would tell me I had pretty hair. I’d reply, “I know it.” Later, though grade-school.

Then, I started to wish it weren’t so red. Weren’t so new penny copper. I’d put lemon juice on it. Perm it. I hated it.

In high school and college, I started to embrace it.

Here I am, bright red hair, with my dad on my wedding day, nearly 27 years ago.

The crazy thing, the older I get the more the colour leaks out of my hair. In a more recent photo, I’m simply strawberry blonde. One day not long ago, someone incredulously asked, “That’s red hair?” I was crushed.

When I was young I earned it by living through the teasing and mockery of my young classmates. Now, my hairdresser earns it.

I can hardly stand it when the grey comes out and more colour leaches away. As far as I’m concerned, Thais is a magician. She can make my hair the colour it was.

I get to be happy with my hair.