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I know white hair appears at different ages for everyone.

I remember thinking that my first- grade teacher at Bessemer Elementary School, Miss McNairy, must be old for the single reason she had a full head of white hair. My mother tried to explain she was a young woman despite her hair color. It was a hard concept for a 7-year-old to grasp.

It was a hard concept to swallow in my 20s, too, when those first white hairs appeared on me.

I was sitting at my mother’s kitchen table while she gave me a home permanent. Suddenly, while combing through my hair, she exclaimed, “You have a white hair back here.”

“Pluck it out!” I emphatically replied, cringing at the thought. I thought I was years — decades perhaps — from discovering my first white strand.

My mother told me that if I started plucking out white hairs, many more would grow back. While I think she was teasing me by repeating the old wives’ tale, I did not care. I insisted that the one offending white hair needed to be removed. I was not ready for one of the most obvious signs of aging to appear.

Time went on and I slowly saw a few other white hairs as I brushed my hair. There weren’t many at first, just a few in the front, one or two in the back.

I plucked them out as I saw them. I had always had a nice thick head of hair, so I could afford to loose a few. No one had to be the wiser. There weren’t many anyway, I told myself.

Over the years, though, I’ve noticed more and more white hair. While I still have mostly brown hair, it is not as thick as it was 17 or 18 years ago when the original white hair was found.

I now count each strand as precious. I debate how it might look now if I plucked every single white hair out. Would I have bald patches if I continued my habit of pulling every white hair?

One time, my daughter even asked, “Why are you plucking out your crown?” as we had recently read the verse in Proverbs 16:31 that says, “Gray hair is a crown of splendor; it is attained by a righteous life.”

Good question, I thought. If my gray hair is my crown of splendor, why am I plucking it out?

I am not sure why I am bothered about those few silver streaks mixed into the brown. After all, I do not normally wear makeup, and I go for a wash-and-go look for my hair most of the time. I shy away at having my hair trimmed, putting it off month after month.

I do not fuss over clothing, nor do I usually wear jewelry. For a time in my life, my mother gave me home permanents, but in recent years, I’ve gone without.

Forget the fact that I have a few age spots and wrinkles. Those things do not bother me, nor does turning a year older each year. They say that 40 is the new 30, after all.

For whatever reason, though, whenever I look into the mirror, my eyes land on those 20 or so white strands in the front middle of my head. As the issue exaggerates in my mind, I imagine that if the color of the rest of my hair was black, I could be mistaken for a skunk.

One thing is certain as I continue observing my brown hair slowly fade to gray. I can find peace knowing that God says, in Isaiah 46:4, “I will still be the same when you are old and gray, and I will take care of you. I created you. I will carry you and always keep you safe.”

Linda Vestal is a wife, mother, daughter, sister and friend living in Gibsonville. Contact her with comments or story ideas at lindavestal@triad.rr.com.