ND April 29th,2012, Language A Hairs One of the things people always noticed about each member of our family

was our hair. All of us had hair that people would find unusual and difficult to categorize. My fathers hair was thick like wool and eager to grow but not in the direction he wanted. His hair resembled foam and grew out to the side. Like a skunk, half of his hair was dark, and the other half grew lighter as a symbol of his wise, old age. My sister had what most people would call Good Hair. It was long, dark, and wavy and flowed down her back like a waterfall of curls. She had the kind of hair people would have to buy. The strands of my mothers hair were thin, yet she had so much volume. Her hair was thick and short, and bounced around when she would stretch during her morning exercise, jump at the site of a cockroach, and lean in to peck me on the cheek. My hair was different; my hair was the shape shifter. My hair could be long and wavy like my sisters, or short and bouncy like my mothers, or even thick and puffy like my fathers. My hair enjoyed being straight, because then it could easily be made into whatever style. My hair loved to change its style. My hair in its natural state looked much like a mop, but that form was never shown often. It was almost as if my hair was afraid to show who it really was.