Zachy gets his hair from Dad⸺Hues of dark brown drifting to the left, needing haircuts monthly. Dad’s hair is dark chocolate, black in dim lighting, peppered with wisps of gray from nights spent at work.

I get my hair from Mom⸺Straight like spaghetti, the color resembling wet South Carolina sand. She says she loves the hair that she gave me, yet with boxed dye she shys from our shared sandy blonde. Mom’s hair is crunchy from her hairspray/curling iron combo, the strawberry hairspray scent suffocating me in hugs.

Matthew’s hair strives to be different⸺Fanta Orange locks to compliment carrot colored eyebrows. ¨Ging¨ becoming a synonym for ¨Matt¨ in his middle school years, making him resent the extra pigments that our parents didn’t pass to Z and me.