chapter+8

Laughter A family trait well, if you know my brother, is our hair. His is tall, long, sad, like it's being dragged back to earth, a weeping willow of hair. Now as if you see my mom's, I see it as a ramble of chaos and confusion, always up in some way the eternal optomist. Her hair is a bush that won't stop trying to grow no matter how many time people have tried to stop it. My hair long, straight at the base, curly at the end--a symbol of order and rebellion, yin and yang, complete opposites in one, as I am also in a way. A person's hair can describe themself whether they realize it or not. My dad's hair is long and straight, simple, needs no gel no products as my dad needs no help or no one. How my mom and dad came together I don't know but our hair resembles it, resembles who, out of my mother or father, we look like and act like the most. Me, I'm like my dad—stubborn, bull-headed, smart, cleaver, and witty, with kindness, sympathy, and dependance from other people, this I get from my mom. My bro hides his emotions, his problems, his saddness, like my mom, but he's also a confident, straight-shooter like my dad, and I admire that. Jackson Wolph