Ever hear the phrase, “The apple doesn’t fall far from the tree”? Certain families have similar qualities passed down from each generation; however, in my family, everyone has different hair. My Grandma’s hair is short like mowed lawn, all trimmed and neat while my sister’s hair is the length of a daisy plant in a field of flowers. My hair is long like a horse’s tail which is fine and straight. 

    My mother’s hair, on the other hand, is like a floor mop. Her light brown locks shimmer brightly in the summer sun, the kinks and coils rolling down her back like a flowing waterfall. Her hair does a little dance and waves at you as she walks by. When it is windy, my mother’s hair turns into a ballerina, twisting and twirling in the turmoil with its invisible dance partner. Her locks of hair are the wisps in the clouds that are delicate and dainty, yet darling to look up at. Her hair, like fluffy feather pillows, like a knitted blanket that is worn in the winter, or like the silky sheets that she washes, is soft and welcoming to feel when she holds me in a hug. My mother’s hair may be unique in my family, but it is perfect for her.