As previously mentioned, I recently colored my hair in a shade of red very similar to my natural color. My decision was finalized due to Dad’s words echoing in my ear; he begs me to return to my natural every time I see him. In honor of my dad, I colored my hair red for Father’s Day (we like “gestures” of good faith in my family. For example, I allowed my nose ring to heal up for Mother’s Day one year).
Dad and I had a pretty standard Father’s Day; food, family, swimming, presents. I kept waiting for him to notice the drastically reduced count of blonde streaks and highlights– I patiently flipped my hair around thinking he’d exclaim, “Oh my God! Your hair looks utterly fantastic! Did you do that for me?”
When he didn’t, I realized that daddies are men too. They don’t always notice when we change our hair, but it doesn’t mean they don’t appreciate the effort it takes to look good for them. To my dad, I always look pretty.
He remembers the natural, born child– which is why I can excuse and love him for being blinded by bleached highlights.