May 19, 2009
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My father’s hair is the ocean, full of waves and whitecaps. His hair is always wild, never under control. His hair is as dark as the night, never knowing what’s in store. My mother’s hair is a mop of blonde curls. Blonde curls that fall to her shoulders and smell like lavender.

Then there is my hair and my sisters. Our hair is like straw, always yellow and straight. My hair is short; my sister’s hair is long. But her hair is fake. It’s an imposter that sits on her head. Her hair should be dark, but she dyes it to be blonde like mine. My hair is a constant, never changing and always the same. Our hair is what makes our family similar, similar but unique

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