One good reason in Red Hair

When I was fourteen years old it was all I wanted in the world to be allowed to dye my hair. My parents forbade it. My looking to be something or someone other than I was before I’d even grown into myself worried them.

And they owned the bathroom. “Give me one good reason” said my dad. So I gave him ten. He kept them, all these years, and he gave me his permission. I spent a year dyeing my hair and the tips of my ears and then at fifteen, shaved it all off.