My Red Hair

We love Abby Koch—our cute, precocious, three-year-old friend. Abby always speaks to me and Mr. Morgan at church or small group, and we usually get hugs, too.

About six weeks ago, my encounter at church with Abby was different from normal. As I said hello and good morning to Abby, she stared at me, looking a bit bewildered. Deliberately, but a little flustered, she said, “Gray, uh, your hair is RED.” She said this like she thought I might be unaware that my hair was so offensively red.

(I had recently colored my hair, as I’ve done for years; however, this “red” was particularly screaming. I got high-fives from all the high-school girls at church, as my crazy-red hair made me instantly a lot cooler.)

“Yes, my hair is red. Do you like it?” I asked. Abby scrunched up her face and looked like she would like to avoid the question before shaking her head ever so slightly. Put Abby down as “not a fan”; she and Mom would see eye-to-eye.

The next time I saw Abby we had a similar conversation. The next week she again commented on my red hair, though she informed me that I’d put something on my hair to make it red. Tiffany told me that my hair had been the topic of conversation at the Koch house, where Tiffany explained to Abby how dyes work.

Abby’s a child who doesn’t like change, and I don’t think she ever got used to my “new” hair color. With the passing of several weeks, my flaming red hair has calmed. This past Sunday Abby greeted me and remarked excitedly, “I like your hair, Gray.”