My family consists of five different people, five different hair styles, and five very different personalities. We are all different; none of us denies this. My hair is a train wreck, a disaster to hairstylists and my parents. Untamed black curls dance across my head, creating a puffy mess that looks much like a poodle. My brother’s hair, my brother’s hair is straight and blonde. Tamed in nature, it comes to a point in front like a rhinoceros’s horn. My sister’s hair is always changing. It is brown and curly one day and straight and blonde the next. My mother’s hair is frail and straight, frizzy yet beautiful. Blonde and short, it is the beauty of the setting sun. My dad’s hair, my dad’s hair is much like mine; frizzy, untamed, and puffy in nature; running away in all directions. I have never seen it sit flat on his head.

Each of our hairstyles is very different; yet each one says who we are. From my puffy untamed mess to my sister’s constantly changing mess, it is who we are. Our hair resembles our personalities. My brother’s intimidating, ferocious rhino’s horn on top of his head much resembles his intimidating, rebellious nature. My sister always looks for something new and better; her rapidly changing personality and whimsical nature match her many different hairstyles. My father; he is his own man and takes no criticism. He allows his personality to run wild, much as he does his hair. My mother, her beautiful, frizzy hair matches her kind, yet still crazy personality. And then there’s my hair, my hair, as one might assume, speaks my personality as well. It can best be described as out of control, swirling vortexes of black. It never ceases to draw people’s attention, much as my boisterous personality has the same effect. Some say it is beautiful, some say it is silly and a disaster. People see me as a person the same way, they love me or they hate me. Through it all my hair says who I am -- for my family as a whole, our hair says who we are.