Dad went gray before he was 30. He may have been 28 when his hair became more salt than pepper.
I used to tease him. Old man, I called him. I always asked if it was snowing, then pointed to his white crown.
He never got mad. He told me that there was gray in my future, because I have his hair. Whatever, I said.
I don’t say that anymore. Not 14 years after his death. Not when I look in the mirror and see these silver strands and his smile smiling back at me. Now I’m the old (wo)man.