I recently saw a photo of my aunt posted on her business website. The first thing I noticed is how fragile she appears. She no longer looks big and powerful. She’s no longer the person I remember who had me cowering in the corner. As she held her fist above me all I could see was wood, wood detailing, a wooden door, and wooden floors. When I saw her photo all I saw was an aged woman with bad hair.
My family is made of the strong work horse type. We live forever but we don’t age gracefully. My grandmother is still living. I’ve seen a photo of her. She doesn’t look so strong anymore either. As a matter of fact it looks like if you blow on her she’ll fall over. This isn’t the woman who beat her children with a walking stick. This isn’t the woman I remember who could make my mother a small girl with a word. She too has bad hair.
My other strong genes come from my grandfather who endured poverty, served in 2 wars, survived 3rd degree burns from the waist down then finally lost his life at 87 to his 9th stroke. He’d been through enough. He had nice hair. My greatgrandmother was the “Matriarch of Pain” who finally died at 95 of leukemia which had gone into remission when she was 5 years old. She had pink hair. We have many, many family members who made it to their late 90’s all with really bad hair. So here’s the thing, I know my life isn’t going to be easy. I know I’m going to continue to have major trials and tribulations but I ask, I implore, that I not end up with bad hair.
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