“Gray hair looks lovely when you're over 70, but until then, I don't want to see it on my head,” said one mom to another outside the kindergarten room. The other mom agreed and they laughed.
Then they both looked at me.
I'm a brunette with just enough streaks of silver to make people wonder:
“Does she know I can see her gray hair?”
And then maybe:
“Oh, is she not going to color her hair?”
I wanted to tell those mamas that I'm embracing my older, wiser self; that I refuse to be tied to a bottle of hair color for the rest of my life; that gray hair is a feminist issue; that….”
Instead, I smiled.
And they smiled.
The children ran out the kindergarten gate, cutting through the embarrassment that had settled between us.
My daughter appeared and hugged me–the only silver-streaked mama to be seen.
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