“Gold and silver over me…” Illustration by Moira Kemp
It was, I believe, Mother’s Day in the US, so it was perhaps fitting that I should get to meet up with both of my sons as well as my granddaughter today, an unusual occurrence these days. My younger son had called his brother just before I was due to leave to say he and his little family would be there shortly… so of course, I stayed, falling asleep in the sunshine on Nick’s deck.
“You’re going grey…” Well, I’m not denying that, but a ‘hello, Mum’ might have been nice first… My son grinned..
“Hello, Mother, you’re going grey…”
It isn’t the first time that has been said. The first time was long, long ago, by candlelight… when the light had fallen on the shining locks of youth and the reflection had painted them illusory silver. These days, of course, he was simply being accurate. I have grey hairs.
“Many?” I asked. I, of course, see only the odd few around my face, now that the scarlet mop is once more its natural colour. “Hmmm… well…” I didn’t take it then that there were only one or two. I watched my granddaughter smiling at her uncle, taking in the hair longer than mine and the furry face. She seemed fascinated.
It was odd really, we had been talking about hair that morning, Nick and I. Well, I thought we had, and had launched into a discussion about the sidelocks of childhood in ancient Egypt after he had mentioned hieroglyphics and continued dredging up similar folk and cultural beliefs… until I realised that for once, it was not his crowning glory under discussion. He had meant hares. The hieroglyphics came in as the hare is the symbol for the verb ‘to be’. I rolled up the proverbial sleeves and launched myself down the path that opened up instead.
For now, though, it was enough to be surrounded by my family, holding my granddaughter on my knee. Grey hairs? Who cares!
Of the five round the garden table, one had long, brown silk cascading over her shoulders, another a close crop of lighter brown, a third long, blonde and bearded, whilst my own curly brown and silver mingled with the golden cornsilk of my granddaughter. The hair of each, very much part of how the world sees us and, perhaps, how we perceive ourselves.
I had dyed my hair because I could; a red flag asserting an independence I had wanted to feel, but didn’t… a confidence I wanted to have, but had not. Yet with the red hair had come both. I had changed my outer reality, which altered my perception of it and reinforced my belief in myself in a positive way… which, in turn, changed the inner reality for me.
A pale pink starfish, perfect and dimpled, rested in a hand that looked like my own mother’s hand, brown from the sun. The tiny fingers curled around mine, pulling them to the rosebud of a mouth to be chewed upon. A life just begun and a life, well … lived.
For some reason, as I looked at the shining heads all close together, seeing the shining eyes, the smiles and the laughter, I thought of the lines from one of Grimm’s fairy tales, a version of the Cinderella story… “Shake, shake, hazel tree, gold and silver over me…” And looking round, I felt the silver hairs amid the gold were just such a magical gift as Ashputtel’s dress.
Sue Vincent's Daily Echo 
I remember, when I was in my 30s, my mother looked at me and with shock, she said “You’re going gray. My daughter is going gray.” Hair color a milestone in life, isn’t it, but it keeps moving. I’m glad your day was magical. You deserve it.
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Mine just looked at me, in my 20s, wearing a headscarf againt the wind of the Yorkshire coast and saying, ‘you look middle aged.’ 🙂 Thanks Marilyn.
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If we are made in Nature’s / God’s image, then when we turn grey are we like Dorian Grey’s portrait, taking the aging hit of grey to keep Nature Herself young? I’ve been wondering this in the last few days and struggling to write a poem that comes even remotely close to this question… and pondering, too, on the consciousness and intent that might have to go with it. Meanwhile, this was a wonderful and moving post and it’s good you had such a beautiful time!
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That really is an interesting concept, Darcy! I’ll look forward to reading that poem. x
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(Meanwhile I’ve been searching out my roots, as it were, and coloring them enthusiastically for longer than i want to admit) 😉
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It’s all or nothing here… bright and obviously fake colour, or i saty as I am. At presnt, I’m quite liking it as it is 🙂
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Despite the comment about your hair it sounds as though you had a wonderful time with both boys and your granddaughter near.Grey hairs are just our scars from doing battle with life. They should all be worn with pride.
xxx Gigantic Hugs xxx
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Not so much scars as medals of honour for getting this far, perhaps 🙂 xxx
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Lovely family post, Sue. Sounds as though you had a wonderful time. And fabulous illustration! Disagree with David thoufgh (sorry David!) keep going with the red hair; it reflects what you are inside. Mine? Well mine has been a mixture of brown & blondes of various shade, with a bit of pink mixed in – all courtesy of the hairdresser. And it makes me feel so good,
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I’m quite enjoying the ‘naked colour’ at present… though I still have a hankering for purple one of these days, no doubt it will be back to red when I’m ready 🙂
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Reblogged this on oshriradhekrishnabole.
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Reminds me of going to a class reunion some years ago, looking round and thinking, “I don’t remember so many blondes in my class.”
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Blonde, I don’t think I will do. My mother had gorgeous auburn hair and decided to go for blonde streaks when she began to go grey.. I’ll stickl with grey or outrageous, I think 🙂
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I’m quite happy with my silver hair, but Jaye has aspirations for turquoise locks. I fear she will never act her age!
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Oooh turquoise! hadn’t considered that! I’m happy with the silvery bits. But if I do go for colour again… hmmm. I’m not sure I will either… 🙂
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What a lovely Mother’s Day you had! And I support coloring your hair. I’ve been doing it for so long I’ve forgotten my original color – tried auburn for a while but have been dark blond since 1970. Hides the gray too!
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I’m quite enjoying my own colour for the time being as it is getting long again ( at least when wet. The rest of the time I look like a mad sheep).. though there are no guarantees I won’t wake up, grab the scissors and the colour chart one day… 🙂
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I went red but then suddenly, in the mid-2000s, I decided there was probably enough white to go natural again. I’ve never regretted it and am lucky enough enough for it to be white with only a bit of grey. It also made me look younger!
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I was almost disappointed when the red went to find there are only a handful of silver hairs yet. My great grandfather was purest white by the time he was 20. I must take aftet great granny who stayed dark till her nineties 🙂
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It’s funny the way it goes. I had a bit of red in my ‘rich mouse’ (my father’s way of complimenting me) originally but both he and my mother went grey in their 30s and yet my maternal great aunt was dark with only a few silver threads when she died in her 80s.
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Mine is mousey brown with the red and gold bits too. I always quite liked it, though I loved the red too. My mother was rich auburn till the grey started,, then she went blonde for a few years.
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