Why Hair Turns Gray

“Grandma, why do you have gray hair?” asked Becky, as she watched Grandma Kate demonstrate how to write capital letters in cursive.

“My hair wasn’t always gray, Sweetheart,” said Grandma. “It used to be dark brown like yours.”

“What happened?” Becky carefully wrote her full name in cursive.

“That is beautifully written. I’m so disappointed that schools no longer teach kids how to write in cursive.” Grandma Kate carefully examined Becky’s practice sheet. “Every time I cried, another strand of my hair turned white. My tears drained all the color from my hair.”

“Why did you cry so much, Grandma?” asked Becky.

“Because I have lived a very full life. They were not always tears of sadness. Some were tears of joy and others were tears from laughter.”

“How do you cry when you laugh?” Becky asked as she switched from a pink pen to a purple pen to write Katherine Sanderson, Grandma Kate’s proper name.

“It is all about strong emotions, Sweetheart. Whenever you find something to be hilarious, or heartwarming, or terribly sad, it causes your eyes to water and the tears begin to flow. Special chemicals in your body are released when you cry, and those chemicals cause the color in your hair to drain away, whether your hair is black, brown, red, or blond.” Grandma Kate picked up a red pen and a blue one. “See how there is very little color left in the blue pen, but the red pen is still full of color.”

“I do,” said Becky.

“It is the same way with your hair. The color just drains away.”

“I understand,” said Becky. “So now that your hair is gray, you can’t cry anymore.” She picked up the blue pen and wrote her mother’s name: Patrice Sanderson.

“I don’t cry as much as I did when I was younger. That’s for sure. But I do have some brown hairs left up there. If you look carefully, you can see them.”

Becky walked over to her grandmother and gently picked through the strands. “One, two, three, four, five. Grandma, there are too many brown hairs to count.”

“Then I have many more cries left in me.”

“Hopefully they will be happy cries,” said Becky.

“I pray they will, but life is not just filled with happiness and joy. The sadness we experience makes the happy times even more special, and appreciated.”

“I never thought of it that way,” said Becky.

“You must cherish each day you are alive, Becky, both the happy and the sad ones. It is our tears that determine the quality of our soul.”

On a clean sheet of paper, Becky drew a big red heart and wrote, “I love you, Grandma Kate,” in her best cursive.