Everyone in my family has different hair. My father’s hair is dark, fading fastly with his age, like old paint peeling on a car. My mother’s hair beams beautiful blonde with silky strands like a warm summer sunset. My oldest sister’s hair looks angry and unorganized, but holds perfect curly circles. My hair black like the bottom of the ocean—from top to bottom a long, straight path too thin to grasp. My youngest sister’s hair is a perfect portion of light and dark, thick and thin—and softly sits still of serenity. And my dog’s hair gently glistens in the sun like the color of autumn leaves.