Once, when I was... 7ish, or 9 maybe, in which case I would have been the same age as Asha is now... I was leaving the stage where my mommy brushed my hair for me. Being the oldest I had to grow out of everything first, and this was one of those things. I still had that baby hair that tangles really easily, and it was wet and fine and I was standing in front of one mirror in the bathroom while Mama was in front of the other one. I'd been waiting for her to help me brush my hair because it hurt and mommies are good at not pulling, and I hadn't yet mastered that art, or stopped caring, and I was frustrated because I wanted to be able to do it myself. She was busy, though, and said, "Hold on a minute and I'll help you." "No," I whined, "I wanna do it myself! How do you get the knots out?" "Start at the bottom," she said with a sigh, barely glancing at me, "and work your way up, real slow." "But that won't WORK!" I cried, stomping my foot and throwing the brush down. It was my favorite brush, a round one I'd gotten to control my first haircut. But that didn't matter now. She sighed again. "Why don't you just wait a second and I'll help you? I'm almost done, I'll be right there." But stubborn little me just grumbled and picked up the brush and went at my hair. I pulled it out straight, the easy part in the front that you can always see that's always less tangled than the part hidden behind your head, and, starting the brush at my fingertips, pulled it up towards my roots. Lo and behold, it became hopelessly tangled. I broke out in tears. "Now it's worse than EVER!" My mother dropped whatever she'd been doing and came over. "I'm sorry! Let me help you." I pouted as she stifled a giggle. "What were you trying to do?" I stomped my little foot again, ferociously wiping tears from my cheeks as she weaseled the brush out of my fist. "I was brushing from the bottom up, just like you said. I told you it wouldn't work!" She giggled again. "Oh, I'm sorry, I meant like this. You do a little bit at the bottom and then start higher up and go down again." "Why didn't you SAY so!" I broke out into a fresh wave of tears and resigned myself to letting her brush out my mess of knotted baby hair. Six or eight or however many years later I've mastered that art and can use the same method on either my own hair, my sister's, or Cassie's. It makes me smile a little and I can almost feel my heart swell up with remnants of little-girl pride and a glimpse of a future mother's love... Life is a curious thing.