As I’m nearing my 35th birthday, I’m considering writing a personal Manifesto - a set of principles and policies with which to carry myself through the rest of my days here on this earth, as well as how I intend to make the most of the rest of whatever time I have left.
That entire last sentence sounds as if I’m preparing for my last hurrah before dying, like I’m in the winter of my days and about to die anytime now. I realize, 35 isn’t old but then again, I am mortal and like any mortal, I could go at anytime so I should get done what I want to get done (besides the goddamn dishes and laundry,thankyouverymuch) while I’m still here.
I’ve spent the last few years trying to reconnect with my Lost Self and finally ended up coming to terms with the fact that there are parts of me that will never be the same and certain fundamentals that will never change. Therefore, some of those personal credos need to be reexamined,redeveloped,restructured,revamped and redecorated.
Developing one’s personal manifesto sounds daunting. Therefore,let’s start with something simple. Let’s begin with hair.
As a child, I had platinum blonde hair. I was born into a family that all possessed my Grandfather’s Black Irish traits…thick black hair that hinted at Southern European origins and light skin usually associated with the Irish. The only person who did not have these traits was my Grandmother,with her dyed auburn hair and green eyes.
I was convinced I was adopted. I wasn’t quite old enough to grasp the idea that there had been some man who donated some of his biological traits to me . All I knew was that I bore no resemblance to anyone in my life who called themselves part of my family.My mother was not a maternal mother and I always lacked a sense of real connection to her. I therefore just assumed she was not my mother and somewhere in this world, there was a blonde haired,blue eyed woman who was my real mother. How I ended up in the care of the woman who called herself my mother was a source of much speculation ,as was the identity of my father.
As I grew older and even had less in common with my mother, my blonde hair set us apart further, connected me to my unknown father and defined me.I’ve always been “that cute little blonde”. Until very recently, when I ceased to be blonde.
The one very evident thing that has changed about me with age is my hair.It’s gotten darker and darker every year, mutating from golden blonde to dirty blonde to finally some sort of murky cross between dishwater and dirt.I look in the mirror and this is not an appealing look to me. As I realized this was the natural progression of my hair color, I decided I might as well have fun with it and be any color BUT the blah brown. It’s been blue,pink,platinum blonde,copper,strawberry blonde and just plain red.
When I became a redhead, I had an epiphany. I am a redhead .It wasn’t just me who noticed it.Even the librarian whispered a excited ,”WOW!That hair color really suits you.It’s like you were meant to be a redhead!” when I walked up to the counter to checkout books.Red suited not just me appearance-wise but my personality,too.
I will be the first to smack someone hard who tries to insinuate there is truth to the “dumb blonde” stereotype.As a blonde, I proudly proclaimed that I was “Blonde and brainy,thankyouverymuch” and got much amusement from the dumb men who honestly and truly though I was some fluff-brained bimbo based on my haircolor. So, it’s funny I am claiming a preference for hair color based on stereotypical traits but there it is. Red heads are presumed to be feisty,temperamental,strong,independent,sexy and oversexed. Sorry but on these basis…I’m much more of a red head. That whole bit about blondes having more fun? Meh, not so much. I spent more time trying to prove I wasn’t just put on the planet to have a good time to have much fun .
Therefore, from this day forward, I am no longer that cute little blonde but the fiery redhead.That is,until the day I get really sick of dying my hair and become ready to surrender myself to whatever hair color Mother Nature deems should naturally be on my head, even if it does look like what my dishwater looks like after meatloaf pan and chocolate cake pans have soaked for an hour.
