Vignette on My Hair
Vignette on My Hair vignette stories
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katemarie
katemarie Community member
Autoplay OFF   •   3 years ago
This story is about how difficult it is to live with someone who is seen as the best, no matter what, but still finding worth in yourself.

Vignette on My Hair

My mother has the most beautiful hair in the family. Everyone knows this. It is red, curly, thick, and vibrant. She has a lion’s mane, a constant reminder of her fierce personality.

I inherited only a portion of this greatness, with my red-brown curly-sometimes hair. I noticed this difference while we were getting ready together one day. My hair is only the beginning.

My mother has amazing art skills, turning any blank canvas into a piece so beautiful, it makes the old masters weep. I can only do doodles.

My mother commands respect with every word, every gesture. She struts around, parting the crowd with every swing of her hips.

I shrink away from others in the halls, afraid to cause trouble, preferring to watch and go unnoticed.

My mother is sure of herself proudly declaring “this is who I am!” I waiver, “is this me? Or is this me?” My mother does her makeup flawlessly.

I clumsily try not to poke myself in the eye with my eyeliner. My mother is a fighter, ready to battle it out for what she wants. She’s the sure winner every time.

I like to negotiate, even if it means I get less of what I want.

As we continued to get ready together, my mother said something peculiar. “Your hair is so much softer than mine. I have coarse hair, rough as wood.

But not you, you got the good genes,” she admired as her fingers ran through my hair.

She had a faint smile on her lips as she recounted, “When I was married to your father, I wanted a little girl so badly. I cried when your brother, Kyle, was born because I wanted a daughter.

So every night, I prayed for a baby girl with brown hair and blue eyes. Finally, I got you- exactly how I ordered you.

” I thought to myself, “ordered? Like at a restaurant?” Then I realized something bigger, it hit me like the morning dawn.

My mother wanted me as I was. I was the child who never could live up to expectations. I was the daughter who would bear no grandchildren. I was the child who was bad at math and sports.

I was the child who made “weird” friends. But here was my mother, telling me that I was what she wanted.

Suddenly, I realized that my hair was beautiful too. My mother can paint masterpieces, but I am a superior writer. My mother commands respect. I try to earn it.

She draws in everyone’s eyes, and so do I. I just want to notice other people too. My mother is proud of and secure in who she is.

I am a flexible, winding, changing river, always ready to adapt. My mother does her makeup like a work of art going on display. I would rather put that energy into a book.

My mother fights for what she wants. Negotiating is a much easier path, granting everyone a bit of happiness.

My mother may have the most beautiful hair in the family, but my hair is beautiful too.

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