“What did you do to your hair?” my mother said.

I blinked at the remark.. I wasn’t prone to mirror reflection, growing up matter-of-fact about my appearance. Just like her, my model.

We’d vacationed in California, and I had enjoyed my week in the sun, thriving.

As strawberries do.

PerfectStrawberryMy skin gets red as theirs, but apparently my hair blanches, a revelation. I had noticed my red skin: it hurt, but my sun-bleached hair did not.

When I was a child, my hair was red, and I received taunts regarding the distinctive hue. That’s when my hair hurt.

Puberty changed the color to strawberry blonde, which brought with it new interest. California residence edged my hair further to movie star status.

Chemo didn’t change the color or texture at all, but California sunshine does. I am glad that God’s chemical reaction is more powerful than man’s.

I am a California blonde. What are you?