Dad’s hair is thick and short. The color of embers on the fire log, the day after the big bonfire party. Not a cold grey, but warm and inviting like his personality. Mama’s hair is thin and short. Her hair is the warm sunshine on a squelching hot summer day: golden. Her hair smells like home; Home is bundled up under a blanket and snuggled up- a warm sensation. My hair, on the other hand, is long and straight. Still golden like my mama’s, but long. Long like the hours I spend studying in my bedroom.
My younger brother's hair stands strongly alone. Bret’s stocky hair is curly. The curly q’s quickly coil up as soon as they can get dry. His hair is the color of melted chocolate chips on fresh, hot chocolate chip cookies. Warm and brown. His hair is thick like a malted milk chocolate milkshake—his favorite drink. If not styled properly, his hair looks as if he were in a ferocious fight with a giant grizzly bear. Big enough so you know he made it out of the fight the crowning champion, but the curls are disorganized and dismantled. The curls are lost. Not short like my father’s, thin like my mother’s, or straight like mine. Bret and his curly brown locks are dominant and stand strongly on their own.