Life By The Slice, The column - observations on life, relationships and humanity - sometimes humorous, sometimes serious, always from the heart.

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The Red and the Gray: A Not Too Civil War

I held six gray hairs in the palm of my hand. Not one or two, but six. They had all been located in the same area of my head. In the front, hidden under the top layer of red hair right before I plucked them by the roots. I wondered if premature graying was a sign of some exotic illness.

After donning my eye glasses, I took the hairs to my desk and examined them under a bright light. I had hoped I could just say they were blond as my Granddad of eighty years says about his natural hair color. However, I knew better. The truth was in the palm of my hand. Plain and simple, they were gray.

I went back to the mirror and began searching the rest of my scalp. How long had this been going on anyway? I felt betrayed by my body; the nerve, sneaking around and sprouting gray hairs like this. My search revealed no further evidence of aging. Until I looked myself in the eye. There were tiny little wrinkles at the corners. Crow's feet I've heard them called. Then I noticed my chin. Or maybe I should say chins. As in two.

I felt compelled to either close the makeup mirror or change the light setting to an evening shade for a more flattering look. Instead I stood up and, after cracking my back, limped to the living room and turned on the weather channel. I wanted to see if rain was in the forecast because the arthritis in my knee sure did feel like a storm was brewing.

I propped up my swollen feet, picked up the paper, and turned to the obituary page, looking for acquaintances who had passed away. I was on a roll. Six gray hairs and six minutes later I was my mother. It was that easy.

I then snatched the remote control and flipped to MTV. I exchanged the death notices for the entertainment section and defiantly ran my hand through my hair.

If the advice I'd heard through the years about "pluck one gray hair and two grow back" was true, so be it. For now they're gone. For a little while I'm still gray-less and still thirty something. Age can be held at bay a little while longer.

At least until the next time the gray hairs dare to appear.

For now, I am going to enjoy my age, my life, and my mostly red hair. I am going to call those wrinkles around my eyes laugh lines and hold my head high thus exercising that extra chin. I am committed to accept aging gracefully and with panache. After all, it's inevitable. Like taxes and death, we can all count on it happening.