I have been blonde all my life.

I have endured the jokes and the taunts readily, since they were always leveled by that old saying,
"Blondes Have More Fun". Of course, I have no idea if blondes really
do have more fun, but who cares. When it comes to having yellow
hair, perception is reality; I'm blonde, therefore I have fun.

So it was with great distress that I, now in my 40's, watched
recently as my kindergarten-age daughter, drawing a picture of me,
began to draw my hair and reached for....the brown crayon.

I am not shallow, at least I don't think I am: I give to
charities, I use cloth bags at the grocery store, I pick up my dog's
droppings, and I volunteer at school. But when it comes to my hair,
I want to be blonde. It's who I've always been. Ever since I was my little girl's age, hair platinum with the sun, I have been a toe head. With added years, of course, some darkening. 

But now Crayola has ruined everything I ever thought about my hair color.

I have been highlighting my head for years as the older I
get the less blonde grows through. Then a few years ago all my hair fell
out due to cancer treatments, and when it came back it was clearly
darker than ever. I never thougth of it as brown, though, more like
that color I have always heard described as "dishwater blonde." Find
that in the crayon box.

Still in my mind I was not a brunette.

I've been to my hair stylist many times since, and she's always done
just what I asked, highlighting some pieces and leaving the other as
is, because in my mind I was still a "dark blonde" who simply needed
a few touch ups to look bright again. But when a 4 year old tells
me my hair is brown, not blonde, not cream, not even the color of
what pools in a broken dishwasher, then it's time for me to get help.

I hightailed it to my stylist as fast a my dark head would go. I rushed in and told her I needed my yellow crayon back.

She had no idea what I meant until I explained the situation. Luckily,
she'd been there before: she knew my hair had changed over the last
10 years, and I was finally giving her the go-ahead to take back the
blonde.

I had the opportunity to go completely platinum; to fully dye the
dark right out and be brighter than the sun, which is what my
daughter's hair is now. But if I did that then I would need to keep
dying my roots, which seems like a lot of work-- and a lot of money-- so
I'm not doing that. At least not yet.

When I came out of the salon I looked better; not
like I did when I was a kid but certainly lighter and brighter
than I had 2 hours before.

However, the next time my daughter made a picture of me I can't say
she grabbed the yellow crayon, either. I can't say that because she was
painting. And with her paints, she did take yellow, and spread the glowing
light over the line of my bald head. And I was happy.

Until she dipped her paint brush into the color brown and mixed the two
together. The result was clearly tan. Okay, so it's not blonde, but
it's not brown either.

I just hope that Tans have more fun, too.