Every day I battle with myself over my recent decision to stop dying my hair. My thick, lush brunette mop was the one physical feature of which I was always satisfied, if not downright proud, so when it started graying in my late thirties, I began dying it without a second thought.  Around my early fifties, fate had a surprise in store for me (besides the one that found my boobs heading south).  Just when my divorce placed me suddenly “out there” again, I developed a strong allergic reaction to every type of permanent hair dye manufactured, even the so called “natural” ones from the health food store.  I’d itch and scratch and develop welts every two months when I “just had to cover the roots.”  I reluctantly stepped down to temporary rinses that left me with several shades of the same color as the dye cycle moved down my tresses. I remember asking the beautician if she thought I should change the color and she answered, “which one?” Finally, with great trepidation, I yelled “uncle” and let the grey grow out.

It’s been 7 months since my hair achieved the distinction of being completely “Salt and Pepper”.  I have to confess, I was very proud of my decision. Not bathing the part of my body which holds my brain in toxic chemicals 6 times a year, seemed to be a wise and healthy choice, not to mention the money I am saving by not purchasing the junk or paying the dermatologist. My friends all compliment me on how pretty the color is. At least once a week, I hear comments like “Oh, I’d let mine grow out, too, if it would look as nice as yours!”, and “More and more people are letting their grey grow out now. It’s a trend.”  Apparently they’re right about the current trend toward graying gracefully. I mean, if it’s good enough for Jamie Lee Curtis and Diane Keaton, it should be good enough for me as well. No?

The problem is, I’m not Jamie Lee Curtis or Diane Keaton. I’m a 61 year old, plump, unmarried, school teacher with a budding case of arthritis, who has to make it up a flight of stairs daily to get to her classroom.  All of a sudden, students who seven months ago would have stepped over me if I passed out in the hallway, are offering to help me carry things to my classroom.  Cashiers from the pharmacy to the movie theater automatically give me Senior Citizen discounts, although I won’t qualify for a card for at least the next 4 years.  I never have to open a door going into Wal-Mart because someone in back of me rushes to push the door open before I have a chance to touch it.  When I thank them I’m likely to hear something like, “No problem, ma'am.”  One guy who looked to be in his late 30’s followed that with “We’ll all be needing  some help, eventually” as he flashed me a benevolent, but condescending smile.  I literally ran straight to the Clairol aisle after that one!  I'm not sure whether it was my personal sense of self worth or sheer  stubbornness  that stopped me just as I started perusing the little looped wisps of colored hair on the shelf.  After all, to dye my hair now would be buying into the bias that says that the color of my hair tells the world how capable I am (or am not).  Why is it that a man with grey hair is considered “distinguished", while a woman with grey hair is considered just plain “old”? Why is it that of all the talented, accomplished, female U.S.Senators who range in age from 46 to 74, not a single one has visible gray hair? Are they all somehow genetically blessed?  Why do they feel the need to artificially make themselves look younger? I just won’t buy into it. I won’t!  I won’t!  I won’t!

Yes, it is nice that in this day and age the students who helped me to my classroom door (even the one who tried to guide me with her hand under my arm, as if I were not only old, but old and blind) care about anything at all. It is true that one shouldn't put down the kindnesses of one human being to another, but… I swear that the next person who glances at my hair, then treats me like I am one short step away from assisted living,  is going to suffer a few choice words that they certainly won’t be expecting out of grandma!

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