Transitions

So I was at work last night (my weekends are busier than weekdays), and was surrounded by ten and eleven year old girls. They're such cuties, not yet boy crazy, dancing and climbing things. Trying to decide if it's okay to still be a tomboy, or if it's time to grow up, wear makeup. They want both.

One of them asked a question about my hair. I've been quite unhappy with my hair lately, letting the grey grow in, itching to color the ugly grey. My own version of remaining young or aging with dignity. I don't do much with dignity, so this is a surprisingly difficult decision.

Loud enough for all of them to hear (20 kids in a small room), I said, "I'm thinking of shaving my head."

Twenty pairs of eyes fixed on me. I swear I heard leaves rustle in the trees outside. No one moved. I was expecting at least one girl to burst out laughing.

Finally I relieved them with, "I'm just kidding."

But I forget sometimes how fragile girls can be. How gullible. How fragile and gullible we all can be. I saw myself, for a fraction of a second, through their eyes. An adult. A woman. With thick wavy hair and cool barrette. Contemplating the unspeakable.

I really was considering shaving my head. It would be cruel, though, to do that to those girls. Maybe I'll take a friend's suggestion and color with wash out till I can get the permanent color cut off.

Odd, isn't it, how being an adult means not doing things for yourself, but for the people you love. Even when they're not your kids.

Until I write again ...

Flea