Up until my junior year of high school I wore my hair one way: parted on the left side, brushed over to the right.

Every school picture from kindergarten on up my hair changed color and length, but never "style." (Notice how I put that word in quotation marks, signifying that it wasn't really stylish at all. I'm very big on self-deprecating humor.) Then in my junior year of high school, Wendy Jones, one of the most popular girls in the school, took me aside and said, "Pat, you should part your hair in the middle." She then pulled out her own brush and comb and styled my hair.

It was like being touched by an angel.

In three minutes Wendy completely changed my life. Suddenly my hair wasn't just that covering above my eyebrows, it was something to be played with. My hair could make a personal statement about me. It could be teased, waxed, geled, blow-dried and styled. Wendy opened my eyes.

In the intervening years I have routinely played with my hair, trying various looks. I've never been afraid to do anything to my hair because I have so fecking much of it it can't be damaged. I've lightened it to a firey copper, Flash Gordon yellow, and even a lightness that approached white. I've worn a crewcut, buzzcut, mullet, faux-hawk, spikes, shaved bald, and that carefree wind-blown deconstruction.

Today I have returned to the parted-in-the-middle look Wendy gave me so many years ago.

It astounds me that so many people will take the time to comment on my hair as if they had any stake in it at all. I never have to wonder what someone else thinks about my hair. Whether they love it or hate it, my hair is an open free topic of discussion. This would be great if I changed my styles for attention. But, believe it or not, I don't. I change my style because I get bored easily. Besides, there's no proof we get more than one shot at life. I would hate to be lying on my death bed, looking back over my life, and have to wonder with regret how i would have looked as a red head with bangs.