Brunette or Norwegian Blonde? It Really Doesn’t Matter!

Much has been said and written—and no doubt will continue to be said and written—about the impact COVID-19 is having on our society. We are cautioned and instructed repeatedly on how we should conduct ourselves if we are to be successful in combatting this invasion. Daily reports, personal views, and speculations for the ‘new normal’ are a constant these days. And,of course, we read headlines such as, “I think we’ll be lucky to break even,” and “International plowing match postponed to next year.” (This is the third time in it’s 107 year history: the first during the 1918 Spanish Flu, the second during World War II). On a more positive note, we also read, “Crime … is on the decline during pandemic,” and “Years from now COVID-19 will be a distant memory.”  But, I don’t want to add to what is filling the media, and thus our minds, so I’ve decided to be a “breath of fresh air” (as my mother was known to say in difficult situations). It’s time to take a break and smile at some light humour— especially given the need most of us have for personal hair care.

Sometime Back in the late ‘80s
Enough was enough! And with an unusual bravado, a new resolve overcame me as I stared into the bathroom mirror. I made my decision. No more late night rendezvous; no more secret meetings during the day. I wanted to be free, to hold my head high, to make my days my own. No longer would I plan them around the controlling six-week appointment. “No more cover-up,” I told the reflection in the mirror as I emptied a bottle of Henna Hair Colouring into the bathroom sink.

What brought on this seemingly impulsive decision? My summer holiday pictures had captured my natural brunette hair as carrot-red thanks to the Prince Edward Island sunshine reacting to the manufactured dye I had been using for years. The real me was about to take a stand. I was going grey and it was time the world knew it! Enough was enough!

My announcement to my children fell on deaf ears. They appeared more interested in the latest episode of Little House on the Prairie and if Laura was going to be punished for pushing Nellie into a mud pond, or if Starsky and Hutch survived yet another leap through space in their infamous red Ford Gran Torino. Thankfully, it appeared that my grey hair was not an issue with them.

Day followed day; week followed week, and my resolve remained firm. My offspring appeared indifferent until one infamous day when things proved quite the opposite.

Their stares were subtle at first, even shy. Sometimes independently; sometimes together. Sometimes an occasional giggle was followed by a slight shake of the head as a whisper was shared from behind a covered mouth. But the last straw—the one that breaks the camel’s back— came in the form of a song as they mimicked a current TV jingle each time I came into the room. Day after day I heard . . . ♬ I’m going to wash that grey right out of your hair♬, the emphasis being on the your. At first I smiled, “Cute” I said, ignoring their intent and strengthening my resolve. But over a period of days, an advertisement that was intended to guarantee ageless, youthful looks became a thorn in my flesh and my firm decision began to lose ground. Was I really ready for the mature look? Were my kids right? Was I jumping the gun at being a senior? After all, isn’t grey hair and seniors synonymous? My goodness, I wasn’t even fifty yet!

 Years Later
That was then and this is now, and I am a senior. I survived the taunting and joking—albeit done in good humour. Did I “wash that grey right out of my hair”? No. Did I ever wish I had in the early years following my resolve to be the real me? Sometimes, when I had a bad hair day, or was overtired, or just felt out of sorts. And what about now? Do I wish I had remained a bottle-dependent brunette? Not really. A few years ago, I heard a man in the entertainment world describe his grey hair as Norwegian Blonde. I liked the sound of that. It was much more appealing than having white, silver or, heaven forbid, blue-tinted hair [been there; done that!]. Nevertheless, setting aside these semantics, I do wear a mantel of grey hair . As a result, there is no question that society has placed me into the category of old or over the hill, which, in itself, is sad. I’ve often said that age is mind over matter, if you don’t mind it doesn’t matter; but more importantly, I like to think older not old because wisdom comes from being older, at least it should. But with society seeing aging as a bad thing, the world has missed this important fact, and they’ve missed learning from those of us who’ve lived life longer. In Job 12:12 we read, “Is not wisdom found among the aged? Does not long life bring understanding?” And Proverbs 16:31 states that, “Grey hair is a crown of splendour.” Another word for splendour is brilliance or grandness. I like the sound of that, too!

In the long run, it really doesn’t matter whether or not I continued to colour my hair so many years ago. During that mini mid-life crisis, I was reminded of something—and it was not centred on whether or not I should have remained a bottle-dependent brunette. God’s Word reminded me that He knows what’s in my heart and that is far more important than whether or not I coloured my hair. Brunette or Norwegian Blonde? It really doesn’t matter.

“… For the Lord does not see as man sees;
for man looks at the outward appearance, but the Lord looks at the heart.”
1 Samuel 16:7