Monday, January 17, 2011
Bill was the spitting image of our father. I was the spitting image of our father. Dan was the spitting image of our mother's father-Papa. Dan was tall and lanky with round eyes that just looked mischievous all the time just like Papa. As he grew older his hair turned to a golden auburn that shimmered. As blond as I was and as vain as I was of that attribute, I envied his hair. It didn't curl out of control or have a mind of its own. It hung straight and it shone.
In the hospital, as I sat beside him, I stroked his hair. He had cut it short and it had some gray in it but it was still auburn. I realized that his hair was the same texture as mine. Very fine and silky. It was the first time I had actually felt his hair and the realization was stunning to me. I mentioned it to my hairdresser last week and she laughed. She use to cut Dan's hair. Her remark was that the only difference was that mine curled and that if Dan's had done that he would have looked like the Flying Tomato (the Olympic snowboarder with red hair).
Bill is holding a lock of Dan's hair for me. It is all I wanted.