Looking back at it, a very defining moment of my life is actually one of the more random and minor observances. A few years ago my older sister asked my father a series of questions:
“dad, how long have you had that haircut?”
“Since I was eight.”
“Eight was… never mind, can you part it on the other side for me for my birthday?”
Sure enough my father did and we never noticed. When he finally brought it to our attention my sister and I held hands and reached for the oldest photo album we could; the year my sister was born. Intrigued we sat there with our legs dangling over the couch and our eyes poring over each photo as our mother’s belly swelled into the beautiful creation of my sister. Our father was generally the photographer, he was always the more mentally artistic and patient like my sister, whereas my mother was the model, she had sparks of artistic brilliance but from lack of training created less beautiful shots. She always had – and still does – have a beautiful face.
We spotted our mark. My father was wearing shorts, slippers, and what we call an “aloha shirt”, with the same glasses, and haircut. The pictures continued as my sister grew from newborn to infant and it was a beautiful change on her part, as my mother changed her hairstyles and my father kept everything he ever had “made a statement for” since he was eight.
“Why don’t you change your style some dad?”
I asked loudly and confused. My dad smiles and says:
“Thinking about changing your style from what you have now takes too much time and effort away from building your potential.”
My sister took the advice more to heart than I did. She did a whole wardrobe makeover and learned how to be spendthrift as she browsed selections about the city. Once everything had been “settled” so to say, she stopped changing and found her niche. She will forever be known as the “woman who dressed well”.
My wardrobe is still changing, my hair is still getting cut in strange ways.
The good news is, the changes are slowing down.