© Joan Haberman

I watched as she threw her head back so that it hung over the edge of the bed, hair dangling to the floor; long, thick and silky hair; not like mine – frizzy, wild and hard to manage. That summer night in 1957, Pam showed me how to brush my hair. She held the brush deliberately, pulling it through her hair. Over and over she brushed, as I sat on the floor, an 11 year old girl mesmerized with awe and admiration. That hair might have been her trademark, if not for her huge green eyes that took you by surprise.

The following summer…