Charlotte Latvala: Last summer as a blonde?

Is this it? I asked myself as I looked in the mirror.

Is this my last summer as a blonde?

I know, there are a million more profound questions to ask oneself, and I often think them. But that’s not what this is about.

This is about my angst over my hair. (I think.)

A while ago, I noticed some dull gray strands creeping in. A lock here, a few tendrils there. And eventually, a bold stripe right over each ear.

Why is this happening? I asked myself. Why can’t I turn a beautiful glowing silver, with soft shiny waves all over, like my grandmother? Why this weird patch of gray amidst the dishwater blond?

I look in the mirror and I see every dastardly villain from the golden age of cinema. With maybe a touch of Pepe Le Pew. But mostly, I see Paulie Walnuts from The Sopranos.

A fictional mobster with a distinctive strip of white hair on the side of each temple.

I’m mostly ok with getting older. I’ve long ago accepted the creaky knees, the diminished eyesight, and the need to rely on friends to remember the name of a certain British actor who was, you know, in that PBS show in the 1980s, and recently resurfaced on that other thing ….

(This has now become a game my friends and I play. It usually starts out with “Hey, you remember that actor/movie/book” while providing the vaguest possible clue as to what you’re talking about (“you know — brown hair, handsome” or “it was about a girl who moved to Mexico” or “wait — was that the place with the salmon and the weird tablecloth?”) Eventually we whittle it down, shouting out answers as if we’re in a game of mental Pictionary.)

Anyway, I’m OK with that brand of getting older. It’s jolly, and hive-mind-convivial, and we’re all in this together, right?

I’m not ok with Paulie Walnuts hair.

And yes, I know I could start coloring it. I just don’t feel ready. (No disrespect to anyone who colors their hair – more power to you for having the guts to make the decision.)

I could start wearing funky hats or scarves to distract from my stripe. But no – I get headachy from a loose ponytail.

Is this even worth brooding about? Such a shallow thing?

But you go through life forging your identity, and certain points of pride are harder to leave behind than others. Is it vanity? Maybe a little. Insecurity about the future? Ah, that too.

The sadness that I’ll never be able to lie out in the sun behind my mom’s house, blasting an Eric Carmen record, eating salt and vinegar potato chips without a care, and knowing that a little lemon juice will make my feathered blond hair nice and bright?

Bingo. It’s not the stripe. It’s the longing for an old life, when I took being a blonde – and never forgetting an actor’s name – for granted. Darn that girl.

Charlotte is a columnist for The Times. You can reach her at charlottelatvala@gmail.com.

This article originally appeared on Beaver County Times: Latvala: Is this the last summer as a blonde?