Blond

I started highlighting my hair the summer before my senior year in high school.

The first time I did it felt like Christmas morning. I walked out of the salon a little blonder, and I was HOOKED. I loved my hair! I felt amazing. The highlighting continued.

When Brian and I got married, highlights became a thing of the past. I watched as my blond pieces grew out, replaced by my natural dark brown locks. After my first daughter was born, my hair got even darker. I missed the highlights. So I decided to do it myself…or more accurately, I coerced Brian to do the deed.

I went to the store and bought all the supplies, including the cap with holes. Using foils was way beyond either of our capabilities anyway. One night, I put the cap on, sat in front of the television, and handed Brian an old crochet hook. I tried to explain how to use the hook and lift small sections through the holes in the cap.

“Okay—go ahead.”

I squeezed my eyes shut and tried to prepare for a little pull.

Aaaahh!

OUCH! My tender head was on fire with each pull, but I grit my teeth and made Brian keep going. Excruciating? Yes, it was. But worth it? Absolutely. My highlights were back, and I loved it.

Fast forward to 2008, and my oldest daughter was eight years old. She came home from school one day, clearly upset. I asked her what was wrong? She started telling me how there were kids who were making fun of her hair, specifically the color. They said she had ugly, mouse-brown hair. Then she looked up at me, and with tears in her eyes, said,

“I want to be beautiful! I want to have blond hair like YOU!”

Like me? 😳

My heart broke into a thousand pieces that day. I tried to comfort her, letting her know that I loved her brunette waves. They were beautiful! But my words fell flat as I glimpsed my reflection in the mirror, my blond hair laughing at my hypocracy. Do as I say? Or do as I do?

The blond was done.

I never highlighted my hair again.