Sorting through the Voices in My Head

Sometimes I find myself sorting through a whole slew of responses, inside my head, that are not actually my own. I was sitting at the table when my middle kid (age 15) came in from a bike ride this evening. I kept thinking that there was something funny about the way the light was reflecting off her hair. Her hair is generally light brown. She was blond when she was little, but it's much darker now. Finally, it hit me.

Me: Did you dye your hair red?

Middle Munchkin (big grin): Yes... Yes I did.

Inside my head, I heard my mother gasp in dismay. In her world, hair dye was made to cover grey hair, and it was supposed to look so natural that nobody suspected. To be asked if she colored her hair was an insult. Inside my head, my mother... and possible my grandmother... shook their heads and worried. Coloring one's hair... especially something wild like red... just might lead down other dangerous and forbidden roads.

Finally, I heard my own voice.

Me: Cool. It looks really good.